By Any Other Name
by Rachel Greenwood
Summary: They survived the sinking and made the life of their dreams. Now, twenty years later, Jack and Rose find themselves facing challenges they never expected, but this time, the surprises are coming from their children. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

_August 1932_

 _Morocco_

"I don't want to leave," Rose said, letting herself fall against Jack. He enveloped her in a tight embrace. "Me either," he said. He took a deep breath, loving the way the hot, dry air felt in his lungs. "Do you feel alright?" she asked, turning to face him over her shoulder. He kissed her forehead. "I'm fine. Don't worry." He took another deep breath. "See? Lungs are all clear."

"I'm worrying too much, aren't I?"

"No. I'd be even worse if it was you." Jack touched her face. She smiled and leaned into his hand. For a moment he was sure she could see him, her eyes, still so bright, seemed to be fixed on his, but the moment passed and once again they were unfocused and sightless. After seven years he should have been used to her blindness, but he wasn't. A part of him never would be. There was no reason for it. One day she had been fine, and the next—He pushed the memory away. There was no sense in dwelling on it. "You _are_ worried about me," she said, laying her hand on his. "I can feel it in your eyes. Tell me what's wrong, Jack."

"Nothing." He made his tone as light as possible. "I'm just sorry to be leaving so soon."

"So soon? We've been here almost two years."

"Longest we've ever been anywhere."

"What about Santa Monica? We were there for a few years. And we're going back there," she added. "So doesn't that count?"

"Yeah, I guess it does." He sighed. "I'm just gonna miss being here."

She squeezed his fingers. "So am I."

 _Wellesley, Massachusetts_

Dylan slid into his usual chair in the corner. The café was nearly empty, just the way he liked it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook. Humming, he flipped it open and grabbed the pencil he kept tucked behind his ear. He glanced around, his sharp green eyes taking in everything, before settling in to draw the couple near the window. Their body language screamed for him to capture it. He had just finished a small sketch when someone sat down in the chair opposite him. He looked up, still humming. "Well, hello," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Eva rolled her eyes. "You see me here every day," she said, lighting a cigarette. "What are you working on now?" He held up his sketch. She nodded her approval. "Very nice. As usual."

"Don't hurt yourself with the praise," he said.

"Oh, you know how talented you are," she said, blowing a smoke ring. "You don't need me to tell you. I—" Her face drained of its color. "What's wrong?" he asked. She stared at the window wearing the expression of someone who had been slapped. "Eva?" He touched her hand. "Are you—" She jerked away. "Don't touch me," she whispered.

"Why—"

"Don't move. Don't speak." Slowly she stood up. "Just pretend as though nothing is happening," she said. He turned to watch her go. "Don't look at me," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Please," she added, softening her tone slightly. He waited until he heard the door close behind her to turn around. She hurried across the street, her slick black hair shining in the afternoon sun. Her meticulously arranged finger waves just barely moved in the breeze. Dylan's curiosity intensified when she stopped next to a tall, black haired man. "Who is that?" he wondered. "What are they saying?" He waited until they had walked away, he staring straight ahead, his jaw set, she with her head bowed slightly and shoulders drooping, before he left.

He could hear the phone ringing even before he made it up the stairs to his apartment. He crashed through the door just in time to answer it. "Hello?" he said breathlessly, hoping it was Eva. "Oh. Hi Mom….Next week? Do you know when? Okay. So I'll see you next Thursday then. Uh-huh. Yes. Of course I'm drawing."

 _Morocco_

"He sounded disappointed," Rose said as she hung up the phone. "Why would he be disappointed?" Jack asked. "I think he was expecting someone else," she said, a mischievous note creeping into her voice.

"You don't think? He doesn't have a girl, does he?"

Rose shrugged. "He hasn't told me if he does, but it sure sounded like it."

"How do you know what that would sound like?"

"Well, I remember what you sounded like when we first met."

"I sound different now?"

She laughed softly. "No." He wrapped his arms around her waist. "You sound exactly the same." She sighed happily as he pressed his lips to her neck. "Jack…" His hands slid up her stomach until he was cupping her breasts. She shivered despite the heat. He smiled into her neck. "Are you cold? I thought it was a bit warm in here actually." She turned to face him. "As if you don't know what you're doing." Her voice was thick with desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands rested on her waist. She pulled him into a deep kiss.

Now it was his turn to sigh. Her body was pressing against his; she stroked the back of his neck with one hand and twisted his hair through the fingers of the other. Giggling, she pulled away from the kiss. "You don't want me, do you?"

"Me? Want you?" He moved to reclaim her lips. "What could possibly give you that idea?" She slipped a hand between them. He sucked in his breath as her fingertips grazed him through his pants. "Rose." It was more of a groan than a word. "I don't know where I could have gotten that idea," she teased, moving her hand away. He pulled her closer. "I always want you," he said softly, brushing his lips across her throat. "Even after twenty years?" she said. "You don't find me boring yet?"

He pressed himself into her hand. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a disgrace how overdressed you are."

He swung her up into his arms. She unbuttoned his shirt as he carried her into the bedroom. She ran her hands across his chest; over the years his muscles had grown more and more well-defined. She grabbed the top of his pants as he laid her down. "What happened to your doubts about my wants?" he teased. He slipped the top of her dress off her shoulders. She pulled the rest of it off and tossed it aside. Her answer was lost in a kiss. She closed her eyes and let her hands move across his body. She knew every inch of him by heart, but somehow it always felt like she was discovering him for the first time. It didn't matter that she couldn't see him, or at least it didn't matter anymore. It had taken some time for them to get over that particular hurdle. Jack had been afraid to touch her at all for the first few months after she lost her sight.

Rose wrapped her legs around Jack's hips. He slid his hands under her back. She hugged him to her as he leaned back, pulling her up and into his lap.

 _Wellesley, Massachusetts_

 _One Week Later_

"I still hate ships," Rose said. She tightened her grip on Jack's hand as they stepped onto the dock. She could hear the crowd moving around her; their voices blended in her ears and all the languages became one indecipherable noise. "We're safe on dry land now," Jack said. "You don't have to worry." He scanned the crowd. He grinned as his eyes landed on a familiar blonde head. "Dylan!" he called.

"Where?" Rose asked.

"He's comin."

"How does he look?"

"As much like you as ever."

"He looks like you. He has your hair."

"It's almost red in the sun. And he has your eyes."

"Are you two going on about who I look like again?" Dylan said. They answered in unison, Jack with a "Yes" and Rose with a "No." Dylan shook his head. "And I'm guessing we'll have to hear this same argument when we see Lily?"

"What argument?" Jack said. "Lily looks like your mother. That's the end of it."

"That—" Jack kissed her temple. She shot him a half smile. "Was not fair," she finished. "That was not fair at all, Jack." He feigned confusion. "A kiss? What's unfair about that?"

"Alright, let's go," Dylan said, "before you two really get into this. Lily's waiting." He actually didn't mind listening to their bantering. They had been doing it for as long as he could remember, and it had always made him feel good to hear it. They didn't fight; not once had he or Lily ever heard them fight. When they were children he and Lily had believed they never disagreed. Raised voices didn't exist in their family, and the anger they had often seen the fathers of other children express most definitely didn't exist in their father. Of course, now that he was an adult, Dylan was sure there had been disagreements and perhaps even a few fights, but as he watched them together it was impossible not to see the love they had for each other. Jack guided Rose through the streets, describing everything as they went. Rose held his hand in both of hers more out of a desire to be close to him than a fear of getting separated from him.

 _I wonder_ , Dylan thought _, if Eva and I can ever be like that._

…..

Lily slowly stirred her coffee. She had one hand on the spoon and the other on her book. She was bent over, her flaming curls creating a short curtain between her and the rest of the world. Her hair, once a smart bob, had just begun to touch her shoulders, and the curls she had spent the last three years carefully ironing flat every morning were back in full force. She didn't care though; in fact some days she barely even noticed she had hair at all. There were so many more important things to think about.

She glanced up as the bell over the door rang. Dylan led the way followed closely by their parents. Jack and Rose were giggling, and it was most likely over something only they understood. Shaking her head, she caught Dylan's eye. He shrugged. She shoved her book in her bag and stood up. The round of hugs earned them more than a few curious glances, but they didn't care.

"How was Morocco?" Lily asked. "Amazing," Jack and Rose said in unison. They leaned toward each other, overcome by another giggling fit. "Stop talking when I want to talk," Rose said. Jack assumed an apologetic air. "I'm sorry, miss." She shoved him playfully. "I thought we weren't doing that anymore?" she said.

"We aren't? When was that decided?"

Lily and Dylan exchanged glances. "So, are you glad to be back?" he said. Rose turned to face him. "What? Oh, well, we're glad to see you," she said, laying one hand on his and the other on Lily's. "We missed you." She gave them each a quick squeeze. "If only you could have seen it. But tell us about you. What have the two of you been up to?"

"Well, I—" Lily stopped. Was it the right time to tell them? How could there be a right time? She could hear their reaction already; there was no need to make the disappointment ringing in her head real. So instead she told a story about one of the girls in her dormitory, a harmless anecdote she had actually played no part in though in this version she was center stage. She felt Dylan glance at her out of the corner of his eye. _Shut up,_ she thought. _I don't hear you making any announcements._

…..

"I wish we could stay with them longer," Rose said. "We could," Jack offered. "We don't have to go home yet. We don't really have to do anything," he added, grinning slightly. "No, I want to go home," she said. "And they have their own lives, which is to be expected." She sighed. "When did they grow up?" He pulled her closer. "They snuck off and did it while we weren't looking," he replied. She laid her head on his shoulder. "How rude of them."

He chuckled. "I'll have a word with them, miss."

"Oh don't bother. Just tell me where we are. I don't hear anything."

"There's not much to hear," he said. "I'm afraid we've reached one of those boring little side streets no-one ever walks on."

"You don't think anything is boring. That's a lie. So tell me about it."

"It's small," he said, "and narrow. The buildings are all close together, and some of them look as though they're holding each other up. The signs need to be repainted and…." Rose lost herself in the picture he created. "It sounds lovely," she said when he paused for breath _. I wish you could_ _see it_ , he thought. She squeezed his hand. "I see it better through your eyes than I ever could through mine." His reply was a kiss on top of her head.

…

"You really aren't going to tell me what happened?" Dylan said. "You disappear for a week, and you won't explain why?" Eva flicked the end of her cigarette into the grass. Lighting another one, she said, "I'm back now. Isn't that enough? What more do you want?" There was an edge in her voice. She smiled, hoping to deflect some of the harshness. "It doesn't have anything to do with you," she added. "So if that's what you're worried about, don't."

"That wasn't it," he said, fixing her with his gaze. Lily was the one with Jack's eyes, but Dylan had his stare, the one that always seemed to look right through a person. Eva turned away. "I don't see a reason to keep talking about it in that case," she said. "So you might as well ask me what you were going to ask me."

"I want you to meet my family."

"I've already met Lily. She introduced us, remember?"

"Yeah, of course I remember." How could he forget? It had been at of his sister's parties, one of the last she threw before deciding such things were frivolous and bourgeoisie; it was, he concluded, just before she decided fun was counterrevolutionary. Eva had sat alone in the corner, a cigarette clenched between her fingers. Her dress had been what first caught his attention. It was the latest fashion from Paris, and it made her stick out like a gaudy thumb in a small, shabby room filled with equally small and shabby people. It was only later he learned it was not the latest thing, but rather a very cleverly made copy. All of her clothes were copies. There were unemployment lines stretching across town, and Eva somehow managed to glide by each one draped in silk. "I don't mean Lily," he said. "I'm talking about the rest of my family."

"I thought your parents were in Guinea chasing some tribe or other."

"They were in Morocco collecting art for museums, and they're back now. They aren't staying long though. In fact, they're leaving tomorrow."

"Where are they going?"

"Home."

"Where you grew up?"

"I guess you could say that."

"You either can or you can't, so which is it?"

"You always have to get right to the point don't you?" he asked.

"What else is there?" She blew a series of smoke rings. "You're either getting to the point and therefore getting somewhere or you're avoiding it and getting nowhere," she observed. He touched her hand. "There's so much more. Eva, there's a whole world more than that," he said. She let her fingers curl around his. "That's funny. I've never seen it."

He lightly touched her cheek with his thumb. "I could show you."

…..

"So tell me again where you grew up," Eva said. "Los Angeles?"

"Santa Monica to be exact, but I didn't really grow up there. We lived there the longest though, and my parents are going back."

"Why there?" She paused to look at herself in a store window. One of her waves was threatening mutiny. She licked her thumb and pressed it flat against her head. Dylan watched her, torn between curiosity and amusement. "You look fine," he said. She smoothed her dress. "I don't," she said, shaking her head. "I should've—"

"Don't worry about it." He took her hand. "You're beautiful." She stared at him as though she were hearing those words for the first time.

…

Jack leaned in so his mouth was almost touching Rose's ear. "There's a woman across the room with an entire bird on her head." She snorted and quickly covered her mouth with her hand to keep from spitting water across the table. "You're lying."

"Would I lie? To you?"

"I'll ask the children when they get here. I can trust them," she said.

He kissed her earlobe. "You can trust me." His breath tickled her neck. "I know I can," she said with a smile.

Their heads were together when Dylan and Eva came in. Jack's arm was around Rose; their clasped hands rested on their knees. Rose looked up as they approached. "Dylan," she said. "And—that doesn't sound like Lily's step." She turned toward Jack. "It isn't," he said. "I think you were right."

"Um, Mom, this is Eva," Dylan said. Rose stood up and offered her hand. Eva stared at it. _Her skin is perfect. She can't be_ —Eva stopped herself. _You know what you want to say. Poor. She_ _can't be poor with hands like that_. Eva resisted the urge to look at her own hands. They were clean and manicured but three years of staying up all night sewing a new dress for the next day had taken their toll. But it would be rude to refuse the handshake so she took Rose's hand and let it go all in the same breath.

Jack almost offered her his but then thought better of it. The look that passed through her eyes when she saw Rose's outstretched hand was impossible to miss. _There's something…familiar_ about her, he thought as she sat down. _But that's crazy._

Lily rushed in a few minutes later, her bagful of books smacking against her legs with each step. "Sorry I'm late," she said dropping into the last empty chair. Her bag landed on the floor with a loud thud. "I was—" Her eyes widened. He actually brought her? Dylan had been hinting for weeks about bringing Eva to meet their parents, but each time he mentioned it she warned him not to. "Why shouldn't I?" he said the last time. "You think they won't like her?"

"It isn't that. She—"

"You like her, don't you? You introduced us!"

"I know I did. She's a wonderful person, but Dylan she—"

"No, that's it. You said it all right there. I don't want to hear anymore."

 _He doesn't know what he's doing_ , she thought. _But he didn't want to listen. I tried_. "What were you saying?" Rose asked. She could tell something was wrong from the way Lily had cut herself off. She touched Jack's knee under the table. _Tell me._ He squeezed her hand. _I will when I know._ They couldn't hear each other's thoughts, but sometimes it seemed like they could. Where once they had used looks and body cues now they used touch and vocal inflection to say what couldn't be said outright.

Jack studied Lily's face. Her eyes kept flicking from Eva to Dylan. "I was just saying that I lost track of time in the library," she said, forcing herself to look at Rose. "That's why I'm late." Rose just nodded. Her voice wasn't normal. It was a little too high, as though she had seen something that startled her. "Lily, you know Eva," Dylan said. There was a smirk in his tone. "Yes, I know her," Lily said, biting off the ends of her words.

Rose couldn't see the looks that crossed their faces, but she could feel the tension building. Jack, on the other hand, saw it all. _What the hell is going on_? he wondered. "Tell us about yourself, Eva," Rose said, smiling graciously. Eva hesitated, her confidence evaporating in the light of Rose's smile. There was something about the older woman that made her feel both drab and overdressed at the same time. It was annoying. She had always been the most elegant woman in the room; all eyes, male and female, immediately turned to her. Her clothes were the envy of every girl at Wellesley. They all wondered how she did it. Where did she get the money? It never occurred to any of them that she might have been not just prettier than them but also smarter, in some ways at least, the ways that counted. She had to be. And now here was this woman she had barely met destroying her entire sense of self without lifting one of those perfect hands. A lady's hands. Now she knew what they reminded her of. _She has a lady's hands_. But that didn't make sense. Not if what she had been told about—Oh God. She blushed hotly. Everyone was looking at her. "I—I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm afraid my nerves are a bit rattled tonight." She lowered her eyes.

Rose nudged Jack under the table. He laid his hand, palm up, on her knee. She traced the word "lie" with her fingertip. He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand. "I know," he said placing a slight emphasis on the words, "how difficult things must be right now." He shot a smile at Lily. "Lily doesn't seem to sit still at all anymore."

"She's a busy young woman," Eva said. "I could never have her energy."

"She's like her mother." Jack raised Rose's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Rose fought the urge to blush under his gaze. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew exactly what was in them. Lily and Dylan didn't seem to notice anything was going on, but Eva couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Well, she certainly looks like her," she said. "And Dylan looks quite a lot like you."

"Oh no, no, no," Jack said quickly. "It's just the hair. He looks like Rose. They both do."

"Don't get him started," Dylan said. "Change the subject now or he'll never stop."

"What? It's true. You have her eyes and—" Rose leaned toward him. "Jack, why don't you describe something we all haven't seen and that won't frighten away this charming young woman? Or," she added, smiling slightly, "just something _I_ haven't seen?"

Eva took a second look at Rose's eyes. Dylan did have her eyes; they were virtually the same except for one thing. _She can't see!_ How could she have missed something like that? _But she_ _doesn't seem blind. She isn't wearing glasses like other blind people. And no-one else seems to notice._ Except now that she looked closer she realized Jack hadn't stopped touching her once. He didn't just look at her when he talked, he moved closer to her. And Rose hadn't been looking at any of them; she had been listening to them.

"What do you want to see, miss?" Jack asked. Rose raised an eyebrow. "We're doing that again, are we?"

"Doing what—"

"Someone tell a story now," Lily said. "They'll go on like this all night otherwise."

…

Eva's cheeks hurt from laughing. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "You—you—" She couldn't get the words out. "You really did that?" she said finally. Jack grinned proudly. "Yes, she did." He kissed Rose's cheek. "That's not the least of what she's done."

"You're not telling _that_ story!" Rose said.

"Why not, Rose Petal?"

"As if you have to ask." She turned to Eva. "You must be bored by now, I'm afraid." Eva shook her head. "Oh no, not at all!" she cried. In fact she couldn't remember the last time she had been so interested in anything. "Now I understand what Dylan meant when he said he hadn't really grown up anywhere."

"We weren't much for settling in anywhere," Rose said. "We still aren't really," she added with a quick laugh. "And you just came back from Morocco?" Eva said.

Rose nodded. "After two years. I don't think we ever stayed anywhere else that long. Did we Jack?"

A shadow crossed his face. "We stayed in Santa Monica for three years," he said slowly. "When we went back the second time." Rose pressed her hand against his. "We did, didn't we?" she said quietly. Lily and Dylan exchanged glances. Eva knew they were all thinking the same thing but no-one seemed willing—or able—to say whatever it was. "Tell a story, Eva," Dylan said finally. "You've heard all about us for an hour now."

"Oh, I couldn't. There's nothing to tell," she protested. "She shouldn't have to tell stories," Lily said. "She's supposed to be your guest." Dylan shot her a puzzled look. Why the sudden interest in keeping Eva quiet? "She doesn't have to if she doesn't want to," he said, keeping his eyes on Lily, "but we shouldn't discourage it."

Jack's grin made Eva momentarily forget where she was. She had been noticing his good looks more and more as the evening progressed, and now that he was looking straight at her with those blue eyes it was almost too much. It was like the way Dylan looked at her sometimes only intensified. A lock of sandy blonde hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it away. _His hands_ _are…perfect_. They weren't like Rose's but instead had a beauty all their own. His skin was tanned. His well-defined arms and chest were obvious even through his shirt. Dylan had told her he was forty, but he looked closer to thirty. _If that_ , she thought. Rose was supposed to be thirty-seven, but Eva couldn't see how. _They're both so—so beautiful_ , she thought, amazed. Her parents weren't unattractive, but the years hung on them, especially her father, in a way she doubted they ever would Jack and Rose. "Don't listen to them," Jack said. "Just do what you want."

"Well, what would you like to know?" Eva said.

"Whatever you'd like to tell," Rose said kindly. "What is your family like?"

"There are just three of us, my mother and father and myself. I'm afraid we aren't nearly as interesting as you. My parents traveled when I was a child, but I seldom went along. We lived in the same place until I was fourteen, and then we moved here."

"What do your parents do now?" Rose asked.

"Well—" _My mother isn't really a person anymore, and my father's best friend is a bottle of brandy. I think he may have gone a little insane in '29, but then again I didn't see him enough before then to really know._ "I suppose you could say they're retired from life these days." There. That sounded good. It wasn't quite true, but it wasn't quite a lie either. Somehow she managed to keep the picture of her family within those lines for the rest of dinner. Everything seemed to be going perfectly until they stood up to leave. "That's more books than your mother makes me carry, Water-Lily," Jack said as Lily hoisted her bag over her shoulder. "It's not so many," she said. "And I carry my own books. You just read them for me," Rose said. '

Jack put an arm around her waist. "You won't let me carry them."

"That's an interesting name," Eva said. "Water-Lily."

"It's her real name," Dylan said. "They named her after a painting."

"Yeah, well, they named you after the guy that painted it," Lily said. "His middle name," she explained, turning to Eva, "is Monet."

"Dylan Monet Dawson." Eva said it slowly, letting the letters slide over her tongue. "And Water-Lily Dawson. I like it. Both of your names sound better than mine."

"What's wrong with Eva?" Dylan asked. "I like it."

"You haven't heard the whole thing. It's Eva Nicolette Hockley." A whole box of pins could have been dropped, and no-one but Eva would have noticed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why did everyone get quiet when I said my name?" It was the third time Eva had asked since she and Dylan started the walk back to her apartment. Each time she asked he quickened their pace and found something else to comment on. "Dylan!" She grabbed his arm. He stopped. "What aren't you telling me?" He sighed. "It's a long story, and I don't even know how true it is."

"What are you talking about?" She jammed her hand in her purse and began searching for a cigarette. "What could my name have to do with anything?" He held out a cigarette. "Here,"

he said. "Just take this one." When it was lit she demanded, "So, explain." He lit a cigarette of his own. "Look, I can't really. It's this weird thing my family has, well, it's just _one_ of their weird things—"

"I like them," she said. "They're nice. They could be a lot worse. Believe me."

….

Dylan didn't bother to knock on Lily's door. She never locked her apartment. There were always comrades needing a place to sleep or stray people she picked up on the street that she invited to stay indefinitely and locking the door would mean having a key for all of them, so after the first ten keys she gave up. "Lily!" he called. The group gathered around the kitchen table glanced up from their notebooks. He ignored them. "Water-Lily Dawson!"

The door at the end of the hall opened and a redhead appeared. "What?" she said calmly. Lily stepped out into the hall. "Why are you bellowing like that? Come in here and talk like a sensible person."

Dylan rolled his eyes. "You're one to talk about sensible," he shot back. But he followed her into her room anyway.

"This is about tonight, isn't it?" she said, pushing her window open. She sat down in the small seat next to it. "Of course it's about tonight," he said. "Why didn't you tell—"

"I tried! You wouldn't listen. You didn't want to hear any more, remember?" she reminded him. She lit a cigarette. "I knew what would happen. Why do you think I said that about her telling stories? I was trying to avoid it." He dropped into her desk chair with a sigh.

"What did you tell her?" Lily asked.

"Nothing," he said. "What could I tell her?"

"The truth, maybe?"

"And what is that?"

"You know as well as I do. When—"

"Mom and Dad met she was engaged to someone else," Dylan interrupted. "I know. I heard the story too, but I don't see what the big deal is if she happens to have the same last name as that guy."

"She doesn't just happen to have his name. She's his daughter. That's what I kept trying to tell you." She stubbed her cigarette out on the windowsill. "You know how they get when all of that is mentioned."

"Yeah, I know." Dylan grabbed a cigarette out of the pack on the desk.

"Those aren't cheap, you know," Lily said.

"Yes, they are. They're the only thing left everyone can afford," he said. "And if you didn't give all your money to the Party you would be able to share," he added teasingly. She rolled her eyes but smiled. For a second it felt like they were children again sharing one of their secrets, but then it was over and they were adults staring at each from opposite sides of a chasm.

"You haven't heard the whole story," Lily said. "There's a lot more to it than what they told us." She motioned with her head. "Look in the middle drawer." Dylan opened the middle drawer and pulled out a stack of newspaper clippings. "What is this?" he said. "Debutante dies in tragic sinking," he read. "Lily, what the hell is this?"

"Keep reading. And take a look at the photograph while you're at it."

Dylan's eyes widened. "That's mom!" It was Rose like he had never seen her. Her hair was piled on top of her head. A diamond necklace glittered at her throat. Her dress was stunning; even in the grainy newspaper picture the amount of work and money that had gone into making it was obvious. She was on the arm of an equally well dressed man. She wore a large diamond ring on her left hand. "Rose Dewitt-Bukator and fiancé Caledon Hockley at the Vicomte de Chagny's annual Christmas ball," he read quietly. He looked at Lily. "This is the guy Mom was engaged to before she met Dad?"

Lily nodded. "That's him. And from what I've heard he's a right royal bastard."

"But wait, this says she died on the _Titanic_ when she was seventeen. That would have been April 14th, 1912. She married Dad on April 20th, 1912 in New York, so obviously she didn't die." His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "That was the ship they met on? They got married after six days?"

"Eight, actually. They met on the 12th."

Dylan's head was spinning. "Okay. They met on this ship. It sank. And everyone thought she was dead after that?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Only a lot more happened. I heard the story same as you, but one time I heard them talking about this letter Mom had gotten from her mother. She had sent a letter back to her unopened, and I think Mom was upset about it."

"You heard something, and you didn't tell me?" Dylan gaped at her. "Why wouldn't you tell me?" He was more upset at discovering Lily had kept a secret from him than discovering Rose's mother, whom they had always been told was dead, was in fact alive.

"We weren't talking then. I don't remember why, but we weren't so I didn't tell you. Anyway, you remember that week I spent in Boston circulating petitions?" He nodded. "Well, I was actually in Philadelphia." Seeing his confused look she explained, "I stole the letter after they went to bed. Her mother lives in Philadelphia, and so—" She shrugged. "I went. I was curious."

"Find out anything?"

"Well, she wouldn't see me at first, but finally after hours and hours of sitting on her front steps I got her to let me in." Her eyes widened. "Dylan, you should've seen some of the stuff she had! It was a bourgeoisie nightmare!"

"Finish the story," he said impatiently.

"Alright, fine. I found out the reason she and Mom don't talk is because Mom didn't marry that guy in the picture."

"Eva's father."

"Right. He was this rich as hell steel tycoon, and her mother couldn't get her married to him fast enough which was working out fine until Dad showed up."

"And she married him instead."

"And he, in the words of our darling maternal grandmother, 'was a worthless vagabond who seduced her daughter and convinced her to give up everything.' I'm not sure, but I think she didn't quite see the romantic side of a socialite running away with a penniless artist."

"But what does Eva's father have to do with this?" Dylan asked.

"He didn't quite see the romantic side of it all either."

…..

Rose carefully removed the pins from her hair and laid them on the table. She smiled as the sound of Jack's step reached her ears. "Need help?" he asked, placing a kiss on the top of her head. He sounded cheerful, but she could tell part of it was forced. She didn't blame him. "Please?" she said, turning toward him. They both knew she didn't need help; she hadn't needed help taking care of basic tasks for years. "You're thinking about tonight, aren't you?" she said as he began brushing her hair.

"How'd you know?"

"I can feel you thinking," she replied.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Where would I be without you?" She just smiled. "I'm not really sure to think," he admitted. "That was…" He gave a short laugh. "I'm not sure what the hell that was."

"Neither am I. You know, I never thought of him as having a wife and child," she said. "In my mind he's still just as he was that night. I—I never thought about him going on with life. Isn't that strange?"

"He probably still thinks of us the same way." Jack set the brush down on the table. He ran his fingers through her curls. Those hadn't changed. "I can't believe his daughter is so…" He searched for the right word.

"Nice?" Rose offered. She stood up and crossed the room. "I think that's what shocked me the most." She stepped out of her shoes. "Could you unbutton this?"

"Sure."

"She and Lily go to Wellesley together," Rose said pensively. "And Dylan is in love with her."

Jack paused, his hands on the last button. "You think?"

"Couldn't you tell? It was obvious just in the way he talked."

"And the way he looked at her." He undid the last button. She slipped out of the dress and tossed it aside. "I missed, didn't I?" she said.

"You weren't aiming for anything, Rose Petal."

"Was it that obvious?" she said, laughing. Her tone became serious. "We'll have to see him again. You will, that is," she added. "I'll just have to hear him, and if he gets too close, smell him." Jack pulled her into a hug. "There won't be any getting close to you at all," he promised. She laid her head on his chest. She breathed deeply; the air was filled with the scent of him—charcoal and paper, a hint of soap, cigarettes, something that reminded her of blooming trees, and underneath all of it there was a scent she never could identity except as him. "I'm not worried about that," she said. "It's been twenty years. I don't want to see him, not for a moment, but I'm not the least bit afraid of him." She tilted her head up. "You're worried."

"He won't like this," Jack said. "You know that."

"I know, but if she wants—it isn't up to him. Or us, for that matter. It's up to them."

Jack cupped her cheek. "I had this thought tonight about what would've happened if you hadn't married me," he said softly. She kissed his palm. "But I did.," she whispered. He didn't say anything; he didn't have to. She could tell what he was thinking by the way his hand felt against her face. His fingertips gently stroked her cheek before his hand dropped to her waist. He pulled her closer. She was unbuttoning his shirt even before their lips met.

…..

Eva was already sitting in her usual chair, a steaming cup of black coffee raised to her lips when Dylan came in. "I wasn't sure if I'd see you today," he said, sitting down across from her. "Why wouldn't you see me?" Her tone was blank, but her eyes laughed above the rim of her cup. She took a sip; it burned going down, just the way she liked it.

"Maybe because of last night," he said. "Things didn't end that well."

"Things didn't end so badly," she said. Her mouth turned up in a small smile. "I had a wonderful time." Dylan's heart fluttered in his chest. Suddenly self-conscious he ducked his head. "I'm glad," he said. "I wanted you to like them."

"What are we talking about?" Lily let her bag slam into the floor. She dropped into the chair next to Eva. "The superiority of the upper classes," Dylan said, shooting her a look. She ignored it. "Toast them while you can," she said. "They won't be around much longer. Not that there are many left," she added after a moment. "The Crash took out most of 'em." Dylan stole a glance at Eva; if she was bothered by Lily's comment she didn't show it. _She said that on purpose_ , he thought. _But that's Lily, plunging ahead and damn the awkwardness._

"I saw Mom and Dad off this morning," Lily said as a waitress set a cup of coffee in front of her. She reached for the sugar. "They said they'll call when their train gets in."

"They left already?" Eva said, a trace of disappointment in her voice. "We're going out there in a few months," Dylan said. "You could come along."

Her eyes lit up briefly. "That would be strange, wouldn't it?" she said. "Having me along?"

Dylan shook his head. His green eyes held her violet ones. "I can't think of anything I'd like better."

"I can," Lily said. "Some milk. This coffee tastes like evil."

….

"When are you going to ask her?" Dylan ignored his sister's voice and kept drawing. "C'mon," Lily said, laying her hand in the middle of his paper. "We both know you want to. You invited her to Christmas. How many people get invited to Christmas? How many people get invited to anything?"

"Get your hand off the paper."

"Answer me."

He glared at her. "Fine. Say that's what I've been thinking. Say that is what I want. It doesn't mean I can do it."

"Why not? You think she'll say no?" He avoided her eyes. "Dylan Monet!"

"What?" he snapped.

"Are you serious? You really think she doesn't want that too? Have you been watching what I've been watching? Were you there last night? Or this morning? Or for the past year?"

"No, actually I was sailing down the Rhine with a pack of bourgeoisie," he said drily.

"Well, while you were doing that the rest of us were watching Eva fall in love with you."

"You really think she loves me?" Dylan smoothed his paper. He capped his pen and dropped it in his pocket.

Lily watched him, shaking her head. "You say that like you don't know what it looks like when you see it."

…

 _Santa Monica_

 _Three Days Later_

From the street the house was almost invisible, and in fact it wasn't exactly reachable from the street. A stone path, laid by Jack the summer after they bought it, led through a garden and up to the door. Roses, once carefully tended by Lily and now left to their own devices, climbed the walls. A set of French doors led from Jack and Rose's bedroom in the back down to the beach.

"It smells the same," Rose said happily. Jack finished opening the last window. "It looks the same too," he said. "Except for the dust cloths everywhere. Those kind of make it look haunted." Rose rolled her eyes. "You know ghosts are opaque," she remarked.

"I know the ghost we saw that time was, but these could be a different breed entirely."

"Oh, really?"

He enveloped her in his arms. "Really." Their lips met in a soft kiss. "Happy?" he said, cradling her face. She kissed his palm. "Ecstatic." Blindness couldn't stop her eyes from sparkling. "Can we unpack tomorrow? I hear the ocean calling." He pulled her in for another kiss. "Of course we can."

Swimming was one of the few things Rose hadn't mastered. It wasn't something she could feel her way through, and as much as she loved listening to the ocean—especially at night when there was nothing but the waves in one ear and Jack's heartbeat in the other—it did nothing to help her know where she was. But that didn't stop her from running into it, curls flying behind her, shrieking with laughter. Jack followed close behind, his arms outstretched and ready to grab her.

Rose stopped when the water became waist deep. "It's so warm," she said, tilting her head toward the sun. "If I hadn't felt it myself I wouldn't believe an ocean could be this warm." Jack's arms snaked around her from behind. "It's nice," he agreed. He pressed his face into her hair; the scent of lavender filled his next breath. She covered his hands with hers. "Does it look the way it sounds?" she asked.

"How does it sound?"

"Beautiful and blue—like your eyes."

"It is beautiful. The water's so clear you can see straight to the bottom. Fish keep swimming around us. There aren't any big waves, just a buncha small ones crashing against the rocks."

"I think that's what I hear. What else?"

"There are some people down the beach giving us funny looks."

She laughed. "Tell me about them."

…

"You awake?"

Rose murmured something in reply. She rolled onto her side and threw an arm across him. "Guess not," Jack said, breaking into a smile. He lightly kissed her eyes. They fluttered weakly but remained closed. He brushed her curls away from her face. Her skin glowed in the light from the full moon. He wished there was some way he could capture the way she looked at that moment, but no drawing or painting, no matter how good, would ever fully capture her. He got snatches of her but never the whole thing.

"That's absurd," she said the last time he showed her a drawing. "Look at this! It's perfect!" She had snatched it from his hands. "Jack, how can you not see how gifted you are?" He moved to take the drawing back. "It's not that good," he said. "I've done better ones." She held the paper out of his reach. "It's beautiful. Tell me you see that." That had been the last time he showed her a drawing. After that he hadn't drawn anything for almost two years.

With a heavy sigh he pulled her closer. "I'm sorry, Rose Petal." He kissed her eyelids again; it was a long time before he moved away.

 _Wellesley_

Eva paused, her hand on the doorknob. She didn't have to go in; no-one had seen her yet. It would be nothing to drop her keys back into her bag, go back down the stairs, and walk the four blocks to the dinner she had declined an invitation to. The dinner Dylan had asked her to. Dylan. His image filled her mind, the soft blonde hair he never combed, the green eyes that always brightened just for her, the mouth— _Stop it_. She shook her head, banishing all thoughts of him. She couldn't go, not unless she wanted a repeat of what had happened the last time she accepted a dinner invitation from him. With a sigh she pushed the door open and went inside.

The apartment was quiet, the front room dark. She checked her watch. It was only six p.m., but the darkness could only mean her mother was in bed. The sound of glass clinking in the distance signaled her father's location. Quietly, she hurried across the apartment—not that there was much to hurry across; it was only four rooms—clutching her books to her chest, Dylan's latest drawing tucked safely inside a copy of _Mrs. Dalloway_. She had just reached her door when her father's voice broke the silence.

"Eva."

She stopped, one foot still in the air. "Yes?" she said, turning around slowly. Cal stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen, one hand in his pocket, a glass of amber liquid and ice in the other. His dark eyes were clear. It was either his first drink or he had eaten something for lunch. His clothes were rumpled as though he had slept in them, and he probably had. Once he had abhorred the very idea of an afternoon nap. Now that seemed to be one of his chief occupations. His hair was swept back, held down by a palmful of pomade. It shone in the dim light from the kitchen, more jet black onyx than hair. As a child Eva had often spent hours in front of the mirror trying desperately to transform her unruly tresses into the same slick onyx as her father's.

"Have you eaten?" he asked. She shook her head. "Well, I made something if you would care to join me." His mouth turned up just slightly at the corners The smile was as awkward as the silence that was sure to fill the air between them until she escaped to her room—to her sewing, her books, to run her fingertips over Dylan's drawing and fall asleep with it beneath her hand.

…..

"How was the party?"

Dylan flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette before answering. "Dull. I couldn't remember why I was there after ten minutes," he replied.

Eva rolled her eyes. "Sure it was," she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"How can you drink it like that?" he asked, eying the steam that rose from her mug. "This is the only way I can drink it," she said. "Doesn't it hurt your throat?" She sighed happily. "That's what I like, the burn. It doesn't hurt, not like you think. It feels nice…warm." She smiled sheepishly. "Like getting a hug."

Dylan returned the smile. "I could just hug you. Save you the quarter."

Eva arched an eyebrow. "I think your other girlfriends would have a problem with that."

"What other girlfriends?"

Pink dimes spread across her cheeks. She knew she was the only one, had known for months, but he had never said it before. _Do it. Do it now or you won't_. She sucked in her breath. Her hands were cold despite the steaming mug between them. "Dylan, would you….would you like to meet my family?" She studied the ceiling's reflection in her coffee and counted the seconds that passed. A minute went by. Two. He isn't saying anything. _Why isn't he saying anything?_ Hesitantly she raised her head. He was staring at her with an unreadable expression. "If you don't want—" she began.

"I'd love to."

"You would?" Relief thickened her voice. "I have to warn you. They're nothing like yours. I don't think my parents have talked to each other as much in ten years as yours do in ten minutes."

Dylan chuckled. "Comparing them to my parents is a bit unfair. They aren't like anyone else I've met so far."

"I've never met anyone like them either. They were like something out of a fairytale." Dylan laughed. "I'm serious!" Eva insisted.

"I know you are," he said. "It's just when we were kids, Lily and me, our dad used to tell us about how he met our mom as though it had been a fairytale." A faraway look came into Dylan's eyes. "He was the artist who saved the princess from the prince."

"I thought a prince was supposed to save the princess?"

"Not in this story. She wasn't a regular princess he always said. She was a gypsy princess that had gotten mailed to the wrong address."

"How did they really meet?"

Dylan hesitated. Should he tell her? There was a chance she already knew. But what if she didn't know? _I'll tell her. Just not now._ "They met on a ship."

…..

Lily crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you serious?"

Dylan ignored her. He shifted a stack of books from one side of her desk to another. "Don't you have any more cigarettes?" he asked irritably.

"In the drawer. What the hell are you doing?"

He turned around, a lit cigarette between his lips. "Smoking."

She exhaled loudly. "I can see that. And you know that's not what I meant. What are you doing having dinner with Eva's family?"

"She had dinner with ours."

"Ours have never tried to kill anyone."

"That was twenty years ago. And besides, he married someone else. I hardly think the man's still harboring a burning desire for revenge," he responded.

"Even if he isn't I'm sure he won't want you marrying his daughter," Lily pointed out.

"So you won't come with me?"

"Give me one of those." She snatched a cigarette from the pack in his hand. "Why do you need me?" she said, lighting it. "Most men don't take their sisters along when they're getting ready to ask a woman to marry them, you know."

"Most women don't drop out of college to be fulltime revolutionaries," he said. Lily's eyes narrowed. "You haven't told them yet, have you?" he added. She studied her nails. "I didn't think so. You have to tell them. They'll figure it out eventually."

She didn't look up. "Yeah, I know. It's just…"

"What?"

"You didn't want to go, and I did. And now I've quit. I gave my scholarship money to someone else. How do you think they'll take that?"

"They've never told us what we had to do in life. You know that."

"Yeah, I know, but still…." She sighed. "I'll tell them about this when you tell them you're marrying Eva."

"I'm assuming that's a yes to coming with me next week," Dylan said triumphantly.

 _Santa Monica_

Rose stretched her arms above her head until the joints popped. Satisfied she smiled and let her arms drop. "It'll hurt later if you keep doing that," Jack said. His footfalls were soft on the thick rug. His feet were bare; she could tell. His feet were always bare when he worked. It was easier to wash paint off skin than shoes he said. Rose turned toward the sound of his voice. "You always say that."

"And you keep doing it anyway," he pointed out. A smile lurked at the edge of his words. She heard it and her smile widened. "Are you still working on that set piece?" she asked.

"Just finished it."

"How did it turn out?"

He shrugged. "It's alright, I guess."

"You would say that about the Mona Lisa if you had been Da Vinci."

"He probably did say that a few times. What were you doing?"

Rose held out her hand. "Come here." His fingers curled around hers. "Okay," she said. "Stand in front of me." He hesitated. "Go on," she urged. She wrapped her arms around his middle. She pressed her face into his back. The thin cotton was soft; beneath it she could feel his muscles moving as he breathed. He was so warm, so solid. "Do you see it?" she asked, lifting her head just enough to keep her voice from being muffled.

"I see it." There was a trace of awe in Jack's voice. Through the doors that led from their bedroom he saw the ocean. It shimmered in the afternoon sun. "It's like someone dropped a bag of sapphires," he said. "That's what I thought it would look like," she said softly, "from the way the sun felt."

He reached behind his back and pulled her around. "Let's go see it up close," he suggested.


	3. Chapter 3

_One Week Later_

 _September 1932_

 _Wellesley_

"I don't want to do this." Lily came to a dead stop. "I really don't want to do this."

Dylan turned around. "We've been over this," he said. "You agreed to come."

"I don't think I fully understood what I was agreeing to."

He sighed. "Water-Lily, please. I need you to do this for me."

She rubbed a crack in the sidewalk with the tip of her shoe. "This isn't going to go well. You know that, right? It can't go well," she predicted. As she bent her head forward her curls slipped out of the silver barrette she had forced them into. They covered her face like a fiery curtain. "I just have a bad feeling," she said, shaking her head.

"I'm not exactly excited about it," Dylan said. "But it's something I have to do if I want…" He jammed his hands in his pockets. "I don't want us to be like our family. I don't want to tell our kids their grandparents are dead because they won't understand why they don't speak to us."

"Dad's family really is dead. I checked."

Dylan couldn't help but smile. "Of course you did."

Eva was waiting at the door when they arrived. Her jet black hair gleamed in the streetlight. Her dress, a dark pink imitation of a popular gown, could have been painted on. Dylan could barely return her greeting. Fortunately Lily, her confidence refreshed by three cigarettes in three blocks and a quick nip from the small flask of she kept hidden in her bag, did enough talking for the both of them. "Eva!" she cried, throwing her arms around her. Eva froze. This was not what she had expected at all. She gave Lily a quick pat on the shoulder. "Just don't try to hug anyone else," she instructed.

The small apartment was flooded with light. The silver candlesticks on the table in the hall gleamed. The spider that used the Rembrandt that hung on the living room wall for its web had been cleared out. The furniture, 17th century German antiques, was as foreboding as it was beautiful. Compared to the house Eva had grown up in the apartment was not only cramped but almost insufferably dingy. Yet she had done the best she could with what she had, as always.

"Is that an original?" Lily said, indicating the Rembrandt. Eva nodded. "We had more." Her cheeks suddenly felt hot. "Before."

Lily offered her a small smile. "I like it."

Dylan breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Lily had never condemned Eva as a foot soldier of the bourgeois, but she had also never been surrounded by the last remaining trappings of her former wealth. "It's my favorite," Eva said.

A dark figure appeared in the doorway that led to the kitchen. "Are you talking about paintings again?" Cal's tone was both affectionate and condescending. "Artists never amount to a thing," he said. "Not in this life."

Dylan shot Lily a glance. She pressed her lips firmly together. _You will be quiet. You will not_ _ruin this for him._ "Most artists don't," Lily said. "We don't live in a world that lets people rise the way they should." Cal turned to her, surprised by the sound of her voice. There was a familiar confidence, a slightly aristocratic ring to her words that felt strangely familiar. A pair of deep blue eyes met his gaze. He had seen eyes like that before, hadn't he? But it was the hair that really caught his attention. The only person he had ever seen with hair like that was—Rose. The name echoed in his ears. He couldn't remember the last time he had said it aloud.

Lily took a step forward. She held out her hand. "I'm Water-Lily," she said forcing herself to smile. So this was the man her mother almost married, the man who might have been her father. Until that moment a part of her hadn't believed he was real. Eva held her breath as Cal looked from Lily's hand to her face. Would he take it? Or would he be offended? His empire had been reduced to little more than a few gold nuggets and yet there were times when he still behaved as though he were royalty.

 _She has a flower name. Why wouldn't she_? Slowly Cal extended his hand. Lily shook it quickly. Her hands were small, delicate; the ring she wore on her middle finger seemed to engulf it. "And this is Dylan," Eva said, motioning for him to come forward. "Father, you remember me mentioning him."

Dylan looked Cal straight in the eye. "Hello," he said, breaking into a grin. Cal just stared at him. He was familiar too. But why?

Cal soon found himself seated opposite Lily. He busied himself with his food, ignoring the urge to look at her. Lily, however, didn't impose any such restrictions upon herself. She studied his features in between spoonsful of soup. He was thinner than she had expected, his face more gaunt. The image she had carried in her mind had been that of a devilishly handsome beast with black eyes that gave no indication of the evil within. In her mind he was the ultimate aristocrat, the ultimate imperialist, capitalist pig wringing wealth from the bodies of anyone unfortunate enough to get under his feet. But the reality of him was nothing like her vision. The man across the table stared into his soup as though he were afraid to look at her. And indeed he was, though not for any reason she would have guessed. He hadn't thought of Rose in years, and the last thing he wanted was to start.

Eva's mother Deidre sat at the head of the table. Her dark blonde hair was held back with pearl-topped pins. She wore a pale blue dress that had been the height of fashion in 1928. A large diamond ring glittered on her left hand, the only piece of jewelry she had been able to save. "Mother, do you remember the course I took on economic theory?" Eva said. "Lily is the one who helped me through it."

Deidre looked at her. "I thought you were studying literature?"

"I am. I took that for fun."

Deidre turned to Lily. "What are you studying?" she asked.

"Economics," Lily answered cheerfully.

"Isn't that a rather weighty subject for a young girl?"

"Not at all," Lily said. "I think it's one of the most fascinating things in the world. And God knows we need economists now," she added.

Deidre's eyes dimmed. "Yes," she said. "Indeed we do."

Eva shot Dylan a look. _Help,_ she pleaded silently. He cleared his throat. "Eva's a very talented seamstress," he said. "I would have never known she made her clothes herself if she hadn't told me."

Deidre smiled. "She's always been talented. I don't know where she gets it. I can't sew a stitch."

"Neither can I," Lily chirped. "My mother tried to show me how once, but…" She shrugged. "I'm just not very good with my hands. I can draw a little, but that's about it."

Eva looked surprised. "You draw too? I thought Dylan was the artist."

"Oh, he is. I doodle sometimes, but I've never worked at it the way he does," Lily said. "He's just like our father, always sketching something."

Cal raised his head. "Your father draws?"

Lily nodded. "Always has. Only now he gets paid for it."

"What does your father do exactly?" Deidre said, turning her grey eyes on Dylan.

"Well, right now he draws and paints set pieces for films. He did that for a while in the 20s before he and my mother went to Morocco to collect art."

"For themselves?"

"Oh no. The Metropolitan Museum sent them. They were gone for two years. They, uh, just got back a few weeks ago. They're at home now."

"And where is that?"

"Santa Monica. In Los Angeles," he explained. "They have a house on the beach."

"Is that where the two of you grew up?"

Dylan and Lily exchanged glances. "We traveled a lot," he said. "Our father found the house in Santa Monica about six years ago…when our mother was recovering from an illness and couldn't wander anymore."

"Seems like an odd place to take an invalid," Deirdre sniffed.

"They have a kind of intense love of warm water," he said with a soft laugh. "And it's one of their favorite places. They lived there right after they got married."

"Why warm water?" Cal said. A strange knot formed in his stomach. If he hadn't known any better he would have sworn they were sitting across from him, only this time Rose had Jack's eyes and Jack had Rose's eyes.

"That's not my story to tell," Dylan said slowly, holding Cal's gaze.

"Why don't you tell a story?' Eva suggested. She turned to her mother. "Dylan and Lily have been just about everywhere."

"I wouldn't say everywhere," Dylan said. "But we've done a lot of traveling."

"It's practically all we did as children," Lily said. "We've been to almost every state. We've lived in a few of them." She held up a hand. "We lived in Paris." She put down a finger. "Venice." Another finger went down. "Dublin."

"That's enough, Lily," Dylan said. "I'm sure they understand. We went a lot of places."

"How did your family have the means to do this?" Deidre asked.

The knot in Cal's stomach worsened. "We never had a fixed home, you could say," Dylan said. "Our parents just made money wherever we went. They would save up a little, and we'd go on."

He hoped that would be enough explanation, but Deidre's curiosity had been roused for the first time in months. It would not settle down again easily. "You have an unusual name," she said, turning her attention to Lily. "I've never heard it before. How did your parents decide upon it?"

Lily glanced at Dylan. He gave a resigned shrug. "They named me after a painting," she said. "Monet's _Water-lilies_."

Cal's glass shattered in his hand.

Lily was the first to react. She leapt to her feet. "Don't move!" she cried. She hurried around the table. "Are you cut?" she asked, grabbing Cal's wrist. He sat there, dumbfounded, as she examined his hand. "You look fine," she said. She dropped his hand. "You must go through a lot of glasses," she added drily.

"I'll get the broom," Eva said. "And another glass."

"What were you saying, Lily?" Deidre asked when the mess was cleared away. "You were named after a painting?" Ignoring the stricken look on his face she turned to Dylan. "Is that how your name was chosen as well?"

"Just my middle name, Monet," he said absently. "My mother liked the name Dylan because it reminded her of the kind of name a poet would have."

"They sound like very interesting people," Deidre said politely.

Dylan just nodded, barely hearing her. _What the hell is happening?_ He squeezes a glass until it bursts and we pretend it didn't happen? It didn't make sense. He glanced over at Lily; she appeared to be in the beginning stages of a staring contest with Cal. He shifted his gaze to Eva. She was picking at her food, her chin resting on her hand. "Would you like to take a walk?" he said.

"Now?" she asked, surprised.

He nodded. "Yeah. Now."

She smiled hesitantly. "I'd like that very much."

"Do you mind?" Dylan asked Deidre.

"Oh…no," she said. "I suppose not." Her voice fluttered like a small bird. Not only was he asking permission to wander off into the night with Eva—something she already knew happened from time to time and tried to pretend didn't—but he was asking _her_ for permission. It was almost impossible not to remind him her husband was just a few feet further down the table. Had anyone else been asking it would have been horribly inappropriate, but there was something about Dylan, he had a sort of charm she couldn't quite describe despite liking it. She was shocked when Eva gave her a rushed kiss on the cheek and a "Thank you, Mother."

"You're welcome, dear," she said, sounding slightly dazed. She watched as Eva took Dylan by the hand and led him into the hall. Cal's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak. "I suppose that means I must be going too," Lily said, grabbing her bag from under the table. The books crashed into each other as she swung it over her shoulder.

"What do you have in there?" Cal said suddenly alert.

"Books." She adjusted the strap. "This week's round."

"Your mother encourages that, doesn't she? Your reading?" he said.

An edge came into Lily's voice. "And my father does too."

Cal's mouth curled until it was half sneer, half disgusted smile. "I'm sure he does."

….

"I'm sorry about what happened," Eva said. "I don't understand….I've never seen him do anything like that." She shook her head. "I can't imagine what could have been so upsetting."

Dylan took a deep breath. It was then or never. "Our names upset him," he said.

She gave him a confused look. "Why? And how could you know that."

"Because…." He sighed. "Please don't be mad that I didn't tell you before now, okay?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Didn't tell me what?"

"Your father almost married my mother." Eva's eyes widened. "It was a long time ago," he added quickly. "I don't think they were actually engaged that long. She broke it off when she met my father. Though I guess 'broke it off' is a bit mild for what actually happened."

He sounded to Eva as though he were yelling at her through a long tunnel. He was talking but about what she didn't know. His words all blended into one. "H—he did what?" she said finally. "Say that again."

"Which part?"

"He really tried to have your father arrested?" she gasped.

"Are you surprised?"

"No," she admitted, deflated. "I'm not unfortunately."

Dylan took her hand. "Are you okay?"

She nodded quickly. "I'm fine. I just—I just need a moment to process all of this." She laughed humorlessly. "And to think, he didn't like you before he knew who you were."

"Is that why you disappeared that time?" Dylan asked slowly.

"You could say that," she answerd. "My father, he doesn't like me associating with certain people. Certain types of people, really. To talk to him sometimes you'd think the Crash never happened. It's funny in a sad kind of way. There are days he acts like he's still a master of the universe, and then there are days he doesn't even bother getting off the couch. He just stares at the wall and drinks." Dylan put his arm around her shoulders. Without realizing it she leaned into him. "But my mother isn't much better really. You don't know how lucky you are to have your family."

"They could be your family too."

His heart began to race as she turned to face him. "How would that work?" she said. Her eyes laughed. "You in the market for another sister? I would think Lily was more than enough."

"That's far from what I was thinking." His throat felt as though it was closing. He leaned down so his forehead was touching hers. He slowly began to caress her cheek with his thumb. Eva sucked in her breath. "Eva would you—will you marry me?"

She threw her arms around him with a force that almost knocked him down. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes! Yes!" She kissed him. "Yes," she said again, softly this time.

…

Eva didn't walk back into her apartment; she glided back in. The lights were off, and she didn't see her father until she was halfway across the front room. He stood next to the window, a drink in his hand. He turned around. Even in the dark he could see her smile. "Don't tell me he asked you to marry him."

Eva was too caught up in her own happiness to care about the disgust in his voice. "How did you know?" She laughed nervously. "Is it that obvious?"

"You couldn't have found someone decent? Is it absolutely necessary to marry below yourself?" he demanded.

Her smile faded. "I don't know what you're talking about. Dylan is the best man I've ever known. I love him. He's sweet, and he respects me. I could talk to him forever. I could watch him draw…." She blushed at the thought of Dylan's hands.

"He _would_ draw," Cal scoffed. "Just like his father. A worthless waste of time."

"I suppose the way you spend your time is not a waste?" she snapped. She took a step back, shocked by her own outburst.

Cal stared at her. "The way I spend my time isn't any of your business," he said coldly.

"You're right," she said. "And who I marry isn't any of yours." She turned on her heel and marched out of the room. When she reached her door she threw one last glance over her shoulder. "I'm glad we lost the money, you know. Maybe now I can be a real person and not a porcelain doll like Mother."

"You don't mean that," Cal said. You don't know a thing about the world. If you did, you would understand just how dire your situation really is. You would understand just how stupid you will be if you marry the son of a gutter rat and his whore."

"That's not a nice way to speak about your former fiancée," she spat. Ignoring his shocked look she continued, "I'm sure that wasn't how you described her when it was _your_ ring on her finger."

"Told you, did he?" He grunted quietly. "Did he tell you all of it?"

"He told me enough."

"I'm sure." His mouth thinned. "Marry him, and you'll regret it."

"Oh, I doubt that." Her words were acidic. "His mother didn't seem to at all regret marrying his father." And with that she disappeared into her room, slamming the door behind her. There was a time when he would have gone after her, but that time was over. The urge to literally shake some sense into her just wasn't as strong as it once was. He slowly sipped the rest of his drink. "Didn't help with Rose, did it?"

…..

Lily bounced excitedly in her chair. "You finally did it!" she cried. "You asked her!"

Dylan draped his jacket over the arm of the couch before sitting down. "How can you tell? All I did was walk in."

"You didn't just 'walk in'. You walked in with her in your eyes. I can see it in your face. You asked her," she insisted. He dropped his head, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "Don't act like that!" she said, punching him gently on the arm. "Just tell me what happened."

"She said yes."

"Well, of course she did! I already knew that!"

"We talked about what happened tonight. She—I told her about, you know, our parents."

"What did she say?"

"She took it well. And then—" He sighed. "That is not how I intended to do that. I don't even have a ring yet. I don't even know where I'm gonna get the money for a ring."

"Something tells me she won't mind. And you could always do what Dad did," Lily suggested.

Dylan chuckled. "I'm not quite as talented as he is. I don't think I can both find a silver spoon that reminds me of her and twist it into a ring."

Lily rolled her eyes. "And you can't draw either." She picked at a hole in the chair's fabric. "When are you gonna tell Mom and Dad?"

"This isn't the kind of thing I can say over the phone, is it?" he said.

"I wouldn't."

"So, I guess the next question is, feel like being part of a trip?"


	4. Chapter 4

Jack was still sound asleep when Rose slipped out of bed. With a groan he grabbed her pillow and hugged it to his chest. She lightly brushed her hand across his face. His breathing was deep and even. Hair covered his eyes. A smile played about his lips. She couldn't see any of it, but she knew exactly how he looked. "I love you," she whispered into his ear. The smiled widened. He buried his face in her pillow. "Rose Petal…."

The sun was just beginning to rise as she stepped outside. She hurried down the hill and across the beach. The sound of the waves filled her ears. Unable to stop herself she ran into the water, arms outstretched and head thrown back.

She was shivering when she crawled back into bed. The water had been warm, but the brisk early morning wind had left her chilled. She lifted Jack's arm and slipped herself under it. He pulled her closer. "Where'd you go?" he murmured, nuzzling her neck. "Why's your hair—" He opened his eyes, suddenly alert. "Did you go swimming alone again?" She kept her back to him. "Rose?" He flicked his tongue across her neck. "You don't taste like that unless you've been in the ocean," he said.

She sat up. Her wet curls hung limply around her face. "I went swimming alone."

"Rose, you know you shouldn't do that," he said. He put an arm around her shoulders. "Why didn't you wake me?"

She laid her hand on his cheek. "You should have seen yourself sleeping." He smiled sadly _. You_ _should see it._ "That's not the point. I don't like you going out alone, especially not into the ocean." He took her hand. "Anything could happen. You'd never-"

"See it coming? I know that. But I would hear it coming."

"Might not," he said frowning. "You might not even know what hit you until it was too late."

"Jack, I'll be fine. You can't be with me every minute, and you shouldn't have to be. I like doing things for myself. I _can_ do things for myself."

"I know you can. I would never say you can't. You're—" He sighed. "You're the strongest person I've ever known," he said softly. "The way you handle things…I couldn't do it."

"Yes, you could."

"No." He cupped her cheek. "Not being able to see you, able to draw, able to…I don't know how you do it sometimes." He laughed quietly. "You learned how to knit blind. I can't knit with sight."

"It isn't that difficult. Most things aren't anymore. It's been seven years; I've gotten rather good at living with it."

He squeezed her shoulder. "You've gotten very good at living with it, but—"

"But Little Rose can't go out by herself?" she said drily.

"Don't say it like that. Don't make it sound like I don't want you to do things on your own. You know I do. I just don't want anything happening to you."

"You can't always be there to save me, Jack."

He didn't answer. He just placed a soft kiss on her cheek and climbed out of the bed.

…..

Eva and Lily were already dressed and sitting at the table when Dylan stumbled into the kitchen. He flopped into an empty chair. Flashing Eva a quick grin he grabbed the pitcher of orange juice and poured himself a glass. Eva returned the grin. "And what are you doing up so late?" she teased.

"Late?" he said. "It's still early. In fact, it isn't even day, and that," he added, pointing toward the window. "That is not the sun. It is some meteor that the sun exhales."

"Does that mean one of us is going to Mantua?" Lily said drily. "I thought that was a Juliet line."

Dylan rolled his eyes. "It is. I borrowed it for my purposes."

"I wouldn't say yon grey is not the morning's eye," Eva said. "I'm pretty sure it's the sun. It is going on 9:30 after all." Just then her stomach rumbled. "Otherwise known as breakfast time."

"Finally," Lily said. She shot Dylan a look. "We've been waiting for you."

"There are other people in this house too, you know," he said, standing up. He moved over to the counter and began helping her slice bread for toast. "Not waiting for them?"

"Mom's asleep. I don't know where Dad is. He was gone when I woke up."

"That's strange."

Jack was actually on his way back home by then. He walked slowly, making a note of everything he saw. It was a different city from the one he had fallen in love with all those years ago. It wasn't even the same place he had brought Rose to during their first summer together or the time they came back with the children or the time after Rose—He pushed the memory aside. He shoved his hands in his pockets and quickened his pace. "You couldn't do anything," he said. "Not anything more than what you did. She's fine now."

As he waited at the corner of the light to change he tried not to watch the family across the street. It was a mother, father, and two little boys. The parents didn't look much older than he and Rose had been when Lily was born. They were standing next to a truck piled high with household items. Their clothes had the too neat appearance that comes with trying not to look poor. "It isn't the same place at all," he murmured as the light changed. "Isn't the same world anymore." He caught the eye of the children as he passed. The parents were off the side, talking in whispers. Without saying a word Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out everything he had. The older of the two boys stared at him in shock as he handed him a ten dollar bill. Without a word, Jack turned and walked away.

…

"Sounds like he's back," Eva said.

A moment later, Jack walked into the kitchen. His eyes lit up when he saw them. "Breakfast?" he said, sitting down next to Lily. "You didn't make this did you?"

"Are you trying to say something about my cooking?" Lily asked.

"Maybe something nice," Dylan said.

"Oh," Lily said, suddenly deflated.

Jack shook his head, grinning. "I've missed you two." He turned to Eva. "They were doing this before she could talk."

"That doesn't surprise me." She gazed at Dylan with love-filled eyes. "He likes to tease."

"Just like his father," Rose said. She bent down and hugged Jack from behind. "I never tease," Jack said, kissing her.

"And I've never called you annoying either," Rose said, taking the empty chair next to him. "That's not true," he said. "You called me annoying the morning after you met me."

"And you were."

"I just asked a question."

"An intrusive and rude question."

"You only think that because you didn't like the answer."

Lily leaned closer to Eva. "See what we were talking about? See how often they do this?"

"I like it," Eva whispered back. "Do you know what they're talking about?"

"No-one ever knows what they're talking about," Dylan said.

"I believe the children are discussing us again," Rose said.

"You just might be right," Jack said, feigning ignorance. "They do seem to find us endlessly fascinating. I wonder why that is?"

Rose laid her hand over his. "I don't know."

He slipped his fingers through hers. "It doesn't matter," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. _This morning, that is._

"It doesn't?" she asked. _I'm sorry_.

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. "It doesn't." _So am I._

"And what you all doing today?" Rose said, forcing herself to turn away from Jack. Even without her sight she was still mesmerized by his gaze. There were times when she thought it was even worse than before. When she had her sight she had always been so lost in his eyes it was a miracle, she would think, that she didn't drown, but now she felt his eyes on her in a whole new way.

"I'm taking them to a Party meeting," Lily said.

"When did we agree to that?" Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Eva did before you got up," Lily replied.

Eva nodded. "I did."

Dylan began. "But you're not a—"

"I know. But I like to observe."

Dylan shrugged. "All right then."

That afternoon while the three of them were learning about orange picker strikes, Jack and Rose enjoyed some quiet time alone. They lay on the beach. Rose's head was on his chest, his arms were wrapped around her. The waves stopped short of touching their bare feet. "This is nice," Rose said, closing her eyes. The sun was warm on her face. "We should start sleeping outside again."

"There's an idea."

"I mean it. Don't you remember how much fun it was?"

"Well, I do remember it being fun," he said mischievously. "But I'm not sure the great outdoors had much to do with it."

Rose shot up. "Jack Dawson!" she said in mock horror.

Laughing, he pulled her back down. "You brought it up," he said, kissing her temple. She settled back into his arms. "You are rude and uncouth and presumptuous," she said, punctuating each word with a kiss on his neck.

"I thought that's why you married me."

…

Rose could tell Jack was asleep from the sound of his breathing. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slid out of his arms. Standing up, she brushed sand from her dress. She was about to take a step when a hand closed around her ankle. She froze. "Jack?"

"What if it hadn't been?" He stood up. "See? Something could happen."

"Fine. You're right. Can we not discuss it anymore?" She held out her hand. "Please?"

They hadn't planned to go swimming, neither of them was even dressed for it, but a few minutes into their walk found themselves moving closer and closer to the water. "We'll be up to our knees soon if we keep this up," Jack said.

"Or worse."

Without warning Rose dropped his hand and began to run into the water. "Rose!" he yelled. He followed closely on her heels. It only took a few seconds for the water to reach his waist. His hand was just inches from her arm. He could grab her if he needed to.

And then suddenly, he couldn't.

Jack had been too busy watching Rose to notice the wall of water heading straight for them. Her name was all he had time to say before it hit. Rose turned around, confused. "Ja—" The rest of her words were cut off as she was swept under. Jack fought his way to the top, but she was gone. "Rose!" he called as another, smaller wave crashed into him. Salt water filled his mouth. "Rose!" His eyes burned. "Rose!"

"Jack!" Her voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. "Jack, where are you!" In the distance he could see her arms flailing. Hair covered her face. Spitting water, she pushed it aside. She was shaking; her heart pounded in her chest. Where was he? She moved her arms in a wide circle hoping her hand would land in his. "Jack!" She couldn't hear anything but the water. She couldn't feel anything else either. The water was up to her breasts; when had she gone out that far? The wave must have swept me out. And then the sickening realization that Jack could be anywhere, that he could be trapped underwater even, set in. "Jack!" she screamed as she began to run. She flailed her arms wildly. "Jack!"

Jack ran toward her. "Stay still, Rose!" he called. "It's okay!" Thunder rumbled overhead. Suddenly the bright, sunny day was replaced by a black sky. The water began to churn around him. He could see another wave building. "Rose! Come to my voice!" he yelled. He flew through the water. The distance between them was closing. Almost there—

And then the wave hit.

The next thing Jack knew he was on the beach, flat on his back. Breathing hurt. His mouth tasted like a box of salt had been dumped down his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes. He scrambled to his feet. "Rose?" he called. A hard rain had begun to fall. Lightning streaked across the sky. He began to run down the beach. "Rose!"

…

Cal didn't stop to think about what he was doing before he plunged into the water. The figure in the distance was so small he couldn't tell anything about it except that it was a person. And it wasn't moving. He could have easily ignored it, at least that's what he told himself as he swam toward the figure, but he didn't quite believe that deep down. There was something pulling him out there; whoever it was, it could have been Eva. _I do have a conscience after all,_ he thought. _Lovely._

Rose was limp as he tossed her over his shoulder. The rain was falling in sheets. He had to fight to get back to the beach. Once there, he collapsed, laying Rose on her back. Matted red curls framed her pale face. Her eyes were closed. He stared at her for a moment, too shocked to do anything else. Her eyelids fluttered. She began to cough weakly. He put an arm behind her back and shifted her into a sitting position. Her coughing grew louder. She leaned forward, gasping for breath. "Jack?" she said, reaching out for him.

"Rose!"

Cal watched, dumbfounded, as Jack dropped to his knees in front of Rose. He gathered her into his arms. She clutched his shirt and pressed her face into his chest. "I couldn't find you," she said. "You were right. I can't—"

"Sshh." Slowly Jack began to rock them back and forth. Gradually her shaking subsided. "I should've been holding onto you," he said. "I wasn't watching the water." Neither of them noticed the water pouring from the sky. "And I didn't hear it," she said, forcing out a laugh. He kissed her forehead. "Doesn't matter."

It wasn't until he was helping Rose to her feet that Jack noticed Cal. He did a quick double take. But he pushed his confusion aside. Rose was what mattered at that moment. "C'mon, Petal," he said, putting his arm around her. "Let's get you inside where it's dry." She nodded. "Okay." Jack shot a glance at Cal over her head. _Are you coming?_ he asked silently.

Jack ignored Cal on the walk back to house. Rose didn't even seem to realize anyone else was with them. The storm was too loud for her to hear his footsteps. Once they were inside Jack whisked her off to their room, sending Cal a silent command to stay where he was.

Cal scowled at the back of Jack's head as he disappeared through the door that led to the hallway. Who did he think he was looking at him like that? _It isn't as though he's—Oh. He is._ The reversal in their roles left Cal feeling dizzy. Here he was standing in house where Jack lived, which, from the looks of it, was not anything to be ashamed of even by pre-Depression standards. _Where did he get the money?_ Cal wondered. _And how does he still have it?_

"Paintings."

Cal spun around. "What?"

Jack stood in the doorway. "Where the money came from," he said. "We collected the geniuses of the twenties long before anyone else did."

"You can't be serious." Cal pointed at the painting above the fireplace. "That. You got money from that?"

"It's a Surrealist piece."

"A what?"

"What do you do with your time?" Jack asked incredulously. "How did you get through the last decade without hearing about Surrealism?" He had wondered more than once what would happen if he and Cal ever met again, but a debate about art was never what he pictured happening. But there was no need to start a fight with him. He hadn't done anything. And if Eva marries Dylan they would likely see each other again. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I don't know why I'm surprised." Before Cal could respond he continued, "Thanks for helping her." Cal shrugged though what he really wanted to do was squirm. There was something about Jack's gratitude that unnerved him. It was so genuine; he didn't care who had helped Rose, just that someone had. "I should've been holding on to her," Jack said, more to himself than to Cal.

"She isn't a child, you know," Cal replied.

"I know, but she—"

"Jack?" Rose appeared in the doorway. Her hair was pulled back. She wore a soft, simple green dress and no shoes. A silver ring that looked suspiciously like the curled up end of a spoon shone on her left hand.

"Right here, Rose Petal," Jack said, turning toward her and holding out his hand.

Smiling, she took it. "I thought I heard you talking to someone, but it didn't sound like any of the children."

 _What does she mean?_ Cal thought. _Can't she see me standing here?_

"I was," Jack said. "I didn't want to go through it all out in the storm, but you know I didn't pull you out of the water—"

"You didn't?" she asked, surprised.

Now Cal was really confused. _She looked right at me!_ But she had also called him Jack, something which he had chalked up to a hysterical reaction. It wasn't like he and Jack could be mistaken for one another under ordinary circumstances.

"I didn't," Jack said. "Um, Eva's father did."

It took Rose a moment to fully process the meaning of his words. Her eyes widened. "Is he still here?" she gasped.

"Yeah, actually," Jack said. "He came back with us." Without thinking he pulled her closer.

"I'm standing right here," Cal said. "She can see me just fine."

Rose's look of surprise became a hard glare. "Actually," she said coldly, "I can't see you. Or anything else."

"Oh." Now it all made sense. Of course she couldn't see. All the signs were there; he just hadn't put them together. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Rose's face softened. "It's alright. I—I forget some people have to be told. Why are you here?"

"I—well, I'm here about Eva." Seeing Jack's eyes narrow he quickly added, "To support her. Her mother and I came out here to tell her that. We, or rather I should say I wasn't very receptive to the news about her marrying your son."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Jack said drily.

"You could make this easy," Cal said.

"We could," Rose said.

"We could do a lot of things," Jack added.

"We already do a lot of things," Rose said. "I'd like to do just a few things."

"And those are?" Jack asked.

"Tea first."

Cal couldn't believe what was happening. He sat across the table from Jack and Rose, a steaming cup of tea in front of him and a piece of toast next to it. "You can eat it," Rose said. "I'm all out of strychnine."

"We are?" Jack said, feigning shock. "We just had a whole bottle."

"Lily used it all up on those orange grove owners."

"She would."

"What are you talking about?" Cal asked.

Jack laughed. "Not really anything," he said.

"And everything," Rose added.

Cal shook his head. "I think you've both gone insane. Drinking too much bathtub gin, are you?"

"Well, now we know what _you've_ been doing," Rose said.

"Is it that obvious?" Cal asked, before he could stop himself.

And suddenly the layer of tension between the three of them thinned until it was almost gone. There was something about Cal that was almost human, or at least, that was the best word Jack could come up for it. _He's different. He's still awful, but he's different._

"I noticed it too," Rose said, as if she could hear his thought. "Isn't it strange."

"Yeah, it is," Jack said. "We should ask him about it."

"I think he'll tell us what he wants us to know."

Cal stared at them. "You two don't talk to other people very often do you?" Not waiting for answer he added, "Of course you don't. Don't even say it. Why would you?"

"We've spoken to Eva," Rose said.

"You have?" Cal said, leaning forward.

Rose nodded. "She's lovely. You really should try talking to her more. I think you would like what you found. Or you should, if you don't already."

"I—" Cal began. He paused as the sound of a door slamming filled the kitchen.

"Lily!" Dylan yelled. "Don't take your rage at the bourgeoisie out on the door!" Cal froze as Eva's voice joined the medley. "Well, it was infuriating." He had not anticipated this when he went out for a walk. In fact, neither he nor Deidre had quite worked out when or how they would go about seeing Eva. And it looked like they never would because the footsteps coming toward the kitchen were getting louder.


	5. Chapter 5

Sharp pains shot through Rose's lower abdomen. She pressed her lips firmly together and forced herself to breathe evenly. She couldn't concentrate on the conversation going on around her, the pain in the back of her head was making sure of that. It had begun almost the moment Dylan, Eva, and Lily entered the kitchen. It had started off slowly, as it always did, but it wasn't long before her entire head felt tender and sore. Her pre-cycle migraine was the only time she was ever grateful to be blind; it meant the light could no longer make the pain worse.

But sound still could. She had long since lost track of the conversation. The voices had slowly blended together until she couldn't tell which voice belonged to whom or even which voice was male and which was female. Someone was angry, that she could tell. Another voice was low and soothing. But beyond that she knew nothing.

"C'mon," Jack said softly, putting an arm around her waist. He stood up slowly, helping up as he went. She didn't have the strength to protest as he steered her through the door and then across the house and into their room. She heard the faint click of a lock and then his arms were around her. He gave her a gentle hug and kiss on the shoulder. Rose smiled to herself. He knew exactly what was wrong.

Soon he was back, his hands on her dress this time. She offered no resistance as he undressed her. His movements were brisk yet gentle. It was completely unlike the way he undressed her at other times.

She felt the steam before she made it to the bathroom door. The water was going full blast. With a sigh she lowered herself into the tub. Closing her eyes, she moved forward, creating a space between her body and the back of the tub. A space Jack filled a moment later. He wrapped his arms around her. She sank gratefully against him. Her body was almost too heavy to hold up. "How did you know?" she asked.

"It was obvious," he said, wrapping his legs around hers. His hands moved down her stomach, stopping at the source of her pain. Slowly he began to press against her with his fingertips, gently kneading circles in her skin. "I thought I was hiding it quite well," she said. "My face was perfectly blank."

"I could tell you were in pain," he said. "Your expression might've been blank, but there was misery written all over it." He kissed her neck. "It kept getting worse."

"You're right about that," she said. "But it's getting better now." And it was. The pain in her head had shrunk into a dull ache. The cramps weren't gone, but thanks to Jack's hands and the hot water they would be soon. "What did you tell everyone?" She remembered him speaking, but she had no idea what he had said. His voice had been soft in her ears. "I told them they could continue the discussion without us," he replied. "You needed rest."

"Are you sure they don't need us?"

"They're fine. Lily should've left too. Cal and Eva are the ones who need to be talking, and Dylan too."

"How were things going when we left?"

"Well, they weren't screaming and throwing things. Yet," he added, trying to make a joke and failing. "But they weren't really getting along either."

"Someone was angry. I could hear that much."

"Eva was pissed." Jack paused and shifted his hands down. "Hurts there now, doesn't it?" he said. Rose just nodded. She didn't question how he knew. He just did; he always did.

"I don't blame her," she said as his fingers began to move again. "If he the way he spoke to her was anything like the way he used to speak to me..."

Jack's legs tightened around her. "He won't ever speak to you like that again," he said, an edge creeping into his voice.

"I'm not worried," Rose said. "He seems different now. I still don't like him, but..."

"Being around him feels different?"

"That's it."

"I felt it too." _But that doesn't mean I trust him._

Rose turned to face him over her shoulder. "There isn't any reason for him to try and hurt us." She laid her hand against his cheek. "That's over."

There was only a slight twinge in the back of her head when Jack lowered her onto the bed. The cramps were completely gone. Both would be back in the morning, and, as always, they would be worse. "I'll take care of you," Jack said. He pressed her to him, loving the way her bare skin felt against his. She smiled. "I love you."

He kissed her. "I love you, Petal."

While Jack and Rose drifted off the fight in the kitchen raged on. Lily had left and come back twice before finally taking herself out of the fight for good. As much as she wanted to stay and watch the scene-and throw in a few barbs of her own-she was just too tired. Dylan, however, was wide awake. He stared straight into Cal's face, his green eyes almost burning through him. His hand lay on the table, intertwined with Eva's. Her fingers were like ice. Her body was stiff. Her face was that of a marble statue. "I don't see any reason to keep talking about this," she said coldly.

Cal looked pained. "I'm not saying don't marry him," he said, avoiding Dylan's eyes. "I'm just saying you should know what you're going to do after that. Both of you."

"In case you hadn't noticed, there aren't exactly a lot of prospects," Eva snapped.

"I am aware of the current economic crisis," Cal said, adding a new layer of ice to his aristocratic tones. "Only a complete moron wouldn't be. What I am not aware of, however, is why you don't seem at all bothered by the idea of living in one of those camps at the edge of the city."

"That won't happen," Dylan said calmly.

Cal looked at him with renewed interest. "I don't suppose you would care to explain how."

"I..." Would it be best to just be honest? "I don't know," Dylan admitted. "I really don't." Cal's interest became irritation. "But I do know I can take care of her," Dylan added. He laid his other hand on top of hers. Her mouth curled up in a small smile. "I know I can," he said firmly.

When the door finally closed on Cal's back Eva let out a heavy sigh. She dropped her head into her hands. "What the hell just happened?"

Dylan pulled her into a loose hug. "That was your father lecturing and questioning us for a few hours," he said. She shot him a look. "Sorry. I knew it wasn't funny even before I said it."

"That was a Lily remark," she said.

"Yeah, I guess it was." He gently lifted and slid her into his lap. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "I meant that, you know, about taking care of you," he said. "I will. I promise."

Eva leaned down and gave him a soft kiss. "I'm not worried about that. I know we'll take care of each other just fine."

...

Cal walked slowly, Dylan's words humming in his ears. What did he know? How could he be so self-assured? "Just like his father," Cal muttered, scowling. "So damn sure everything will work out for him." But everything had worked out for Jack. Everything had worked out perfectly for Jack. "And what do I have?"

He had Eva, but she wasn't his, nor was Deidre, who under normal circumstances barely mattered to him at all, though after the events of that evening he felt a strange urge to talk to her. He would have to tell her about seeing Eva, of course. And then she would want to see her. The thought of going back, of seeing Jack and Rose again filled him with a mix of unease and envy.

His scowl deepened as he remembered the look in Jack's eyes. _I won_ , it said. And the way he had been with Rose. It was as though he could read her thoughts. Cal still didn't understand how he was able to sweep her out of the room so easily. Or why. "He coddles her," Cal told himself. _She's blind_. "There's still no need to treat her like a porcelian doll. If she were my wife-"

 _But she isn't. She's his. And that's what you're really angry about, isn't it?_

"I stopped caring about that years ago." Cal unlocked the door and stepped into the small room he and Deidre had rented. A bare bulb was the only light source. It had no private bathroom. A brass bed was the only furnishing. Deidre was curled up on top of the blanket, fast asleep.

…

Jack's arms were wrapped tightly around her. Smiling, Rose nuzzled his neck. The scent of him filled the air. "You feel ok?" he whispered.

"I feel perfect," she murmured, punctuating the statement with a kiss on his neck.

"You sure?"

She kissed him again, lingering this time. "Quite sure, Jack."

She could already feel him growing hard against her thigh as he rolled her over. Her smile widened. "That took a great deal of persuasion," she said. She lightly ran her nails down his chest. "I expected to spend the better part of the morning trying to get you to see things my way."

Jack's hands rested against her hips. Her eyes, though sightless, were bright; they laughed up at him. Her curls were spread across the pillow, creating a kind of glow around her milky skin. "I don't remember you ever having to do much persuading," he said with a soft chuckle. He brushed his lips across hers. "In fact I don't remember you ever having to do any persuading." His lips moved to her throat. "But if you'd prefer, miss..."

Rose wrapped her arms around his neck. "I thought we weren't doing that anymore?" she said.

Jack kept moving his lips down. "Doing what, miss?" He gently closed his mouth over her left breast.

She squirmed, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. "You know what I mean," she said, sounding slightly out of breath. She tried to keep talking, but all that came out was a low moan. Good with his hands didn't even begin to describe Jack.

Rose floated through the rest of the morning. The pain she had been expecting never made an appearance, and though she was sure she would pay for it after a few days she couldn't seem to make herself care. Jack couldn't take his eyes off her during breakfast; she was glowing. There was a thin layer of tension in the air, but it didn't touch either of them. Lily propped a copy of _Living My Life_ by Emma Goldman against her glass of orange juice. She ate with a practiced ease. Dylan and Eva almost sat on top of each other. They did most of the talking.

Pausing to breathe, Dylan turned to Rose. "Do you feel better, Mom?"

Rose nodded, breaking into a grin. "I do." She squeezed Jack's hand. "I feel wonderful."

Dylan chose to ignore the implication of her gesture. Their parents' private life was something he and Lily had known existed since they were children and had come home early unexpectedly from school. As far as they knew Jack and Rose never even realized they were there. The door to their room had been open just enough for them to see their parents in bed, wrapped in an embrace. They had crept outside as quickly as they could.

"I don't think we were supposed to see that," Dylan had said.

"Why not?" Lily asked, logical as always. "They looked happy."

"Well yeah, but-"

"And it's not like we haven't seen them kissing. Or dancing."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"But this is different."

"I think so."

Lily pondered for a moment. "I think so too. I wonder why?"

She had been nine; he had been almost eleven. A few years later, when they discovered exactly what they weren't supposed to see and why, it barely affected them. Physical affection between their parents didn't carry the same trauma that it did for some children. But despite that Dylan still didn't want to think about it if he didn't have to. "I'm glad," was all he said.

"You didn't look well at all last night," Eva said, concern in her voice. She liked Rose. She liked her energy and her quiet intelligence. She liked the way she would listen to a conversation, her face betraying none of her thoughts, until she felt the need to speak. Lily was brilliant, but Lily was loud, outspoken, and always ready to debate to the death. Eva had a feeling Rose had done her own share of debating when she was Lily's age.

"Was it that obvious?" Rose said, frowning slightly.

"No," Eva assured her. "Not until you left."

"Haven't you already read that?" Jack asked, sensing a change in subject was needed. Lily glanced up from her book. "I've read _Anarchism_ ," she said. "Several times, actually. I got this one just before we came out here."

"Emma Goldman is still writing?" Rose said.

"She is," Lily said. "And her feelings about free love are strangely more interesting in a depoliticized context." Suddenly self-conscious, Lily closed the book with a loud thump. She could talk politics for days without needing a break, but other things gave her a bit more trouble.

"Go on," Dylan teased. "What's that you were saying?"

"Don't bother your sister," Jack said.

"I wasn't."

"You were." And that was that.

...

"We'll have to see my father again," Eva said. Dylan nodded. Lily walked briskly ahead of them, a stack of papers tucked under her arm. She seemed oblivious to their presence. They were only there because Jack didn't like Lily going out on her "missions" by herself. "She doesn't think about what could happen," he said. "And she's just like her mother. So go with her."

Refusing had not been an option, though Dylan hadn't tried since he was fifteen. Lily had been thirteen, almost fourteen, when she discovered politics, specifically anarchism and the works of Mikhail Bakunin and embarked on her first attempt to educate others. The look in Jack's eyes had been enough to make Dylan see the error of his refusal.

His father didn't hit him; he had never even so much as raised a hand to either of them-], and he didn't have to. Neither had Rose. It wasn't anger that Dylan and Lily feared, but rather, disappointment.

It was that fear of disappointment that was sending Lily out of the house every afternoon and onto the streets. She could hear Dylan and Eva talking behind her, but she ignored them. They were discussing her parents, a subject which Lily had mixed feelings about. She didn't like Cal, but Deidre was another matter. She had been interesting. But at that moment Lily had a goal to think about. She straightened her back and smiled brightly as two women approached. If she was going to be a fullt\\-time revolutionary, then she was going to be a damn good one.

"Has she always been like this?" Eva asked. "This determined to change the world?"

Dylan said. "Pretty much. She wasn't as focused about it when we were younger though."

"It's nice that your parents don't mind."

"Mind? Hell, they've pretty much encouraged her all along."

"Even when she dropped out of school?"

"They don't know about that yet," Dylan said quietly.

Eva looked surprised. "She hasn't told them? I didn't think your family kept secrets."

"We don't, usually. I think she's been waiting for the right time. They've never pushed either of us to do anything we didn't want to do, but going to college was what Lily wanted to do. So..." He shrugged. "She did."

"And now...?"

"And now I don't know what she wants. Besides a dictatorship of the proletariat," he added, a trace of scorn in his voice.

"At least she has ideals," Eva was quick to point out. "And she does live by them."

"It isn't her ideals that bother me. I don't entirely disagree with her. I'm just worried about how she'll wind up."

Eva slipped an arm around his waist. She met his raised eyebrow with a grin. "What? Only you can have the privilege of waist holding?"

Dylan put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, resting her head on his chest. "It doesn't matter if we have to see him again," Dylan said, switching topics.

"And it doesn't matter that you didn't have an answer last night," Eva said.

"You really don't mind?" he said. "The country's in turmoil, people are starving, getting shot because they're asking for jobs, and you don't mind that we don't have a plan? Not even the beginning of one?"

"Dylan, how could we have a plan? Think about what you just said. And don't worry about my father. He's just trying to make you feel not good enough, which, strange as it may sound, is his way of showing affection for me."

"You're right. That is strange."

"Not for the world we come from. I'm sure your mother would understand."

Dylan nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. "I guess she would."

...

Cal walked quickly. He had to be back before Deidre, and he had no idea how long it would take to convince Jack and Rose. When he had woken up that morning it had been with the realization that Deidre must never find out about his past with them. She knew he had been engaged before he met her, but as far as she was concerned Rose had died on the _Titanic_. And he wanted it to stay that way.

He wasn't surprised to find the front door unlocked. "Of course," he muttered, stepping inside. "Why would they lock it?" He knocked on the doorframe. "Hello?" he called. He heard the sound of light footsteps and then Rose appeared. For a brief moment he was sure she was looking right at him, but then he realized she was listening at him. "Um, Rose," he said awkwardly, "it's-"

"I know who you are."

Her calm tone startled him. "Oh," he said. "I suppose you could tell from-"

"Your voice? Yes. And your step."

"My step?"

"Everyone walks differently," she said, motioning for him to come toward her. "You step heavily, not exactly purposefully, but..." She searched for the right words. "As though you're important. And you want everyone to know it."

"That's a bad thing, I'm assuming?" he said smoothly.

"Hubris usually is."

"I wouldn't call myself hubristic."

"I would."

Now they were standing face to face. Cal was so close Rose could smell him. His breath was minty. His hair was freshly pomaded. There was a thick scent of soap and various skin creams; detecting the actual scent of him was almost impossible. "You haven't changed at all," she said. She could tell his face was the same even without touching it.

"How do you know?" he asked, more curious than he would have liked to be.

"You occupy space the same way," she said simply. She turned and walked over to a chair next to the fireplace. A knitting basket was next to it. She sat down and picked up a ball of blue yarn and two pencils. "You can sit down," she said, beginning to knit.

"You realize those are pencils, don't you?" he said. From his position on the couch he had a perfect view of her. Her curls, still long despite the change in fashion, were pulled away from her face in and held by a green ribbon. Her dress was simple but elegant; someone with a good eye had chosen it _. He chose it. Of course he did_.

"I know they're pencils," Rose said. "I couldn't find my knitting needles, but I could find two of Jack's pencils." She knitted quickly, her progress not at all hindered by the pencils. "I moved them, but I didn't put them back," she said in answer to his unasked question. "And I forget to ask Jack to find them for me."

"I guess he would have to." Cal looked around. The room was bright; the sun spilled in from a large open window that faced the ocean. It was a medium-sized room, roomy without feeling too big. A full bookshelf covered one wall. Books were stacked on the floor around the couch and on the table and mantel. Photographs, all from various points in Jack and Rose's marriage and travels, covered the empty spaces on the table and the mantel. Paintings, at least one of them Jack's, hung on the walls.

"He's outside," Rose said. "Working. Painting," she added.

"Oh. That's what he does," Cal said awkwardly.

Rose smiled slightly. "You didn't come here to talk about that. In fact, I doubt you even care. So, why are you here?"

"He won't like that you're alone with me."

"I'm not alone with you. He's ten feet away from the window. There isn't much you could manage to do before he made it inside. I'm not worried."

"Oh."

She frowned. "But you're right. He wouldn't like it." She moved to stand up.

"Don't call him yet," Cal said quickly.

She paused, surprised. "Why not?"

He wasn't sure how to respond. Why did he want to be alone with her? It wasn't to look at her. He could do that just as easily with Jack in the room, and in fact it was more fun that way, with Jack's eyes smoldering and his free hand clenched into a fist. "May I ask you something?" he said finally, "before you call that gallant knight of yours?"

"Sure." Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "What is it?"

"Why him?"

"As in, why him and why not you?"

"Well, yes, but also, just why him, of all people? Why not someone else, if not me?"

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same," she said. "And yours or anyone else's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." She shrugged. "That's the best I can give you." He just nodded as she stuck her head out the window and called Jack's name.


	6. Chapter 6

If talking to Rose alone had been difficult and awkward then talking to her with Jack in the room was next to impossible. Cal sat in the middle of the couch, trying his best to find a place to put his hands. Jack sat on the arm of Rose's chair, his hand on her shoulder. She was still knitting, though she had slowed considerably since Jack came in. She seemed more intent on participating in the conversation than on making progress on what Cal guessed was a scarf. _It's for him_ , he realized. The blue of the wool yarn matched Jack's eyes perfectly. For reasons he didn't want to explore, the thought of Rose knitting something for Jack made him feel slightly sick.

Jack's face was expressionless. He had been smiling when he walked through the door, but the instant he saw Cal it vanished. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not bothering to disguise his displeasure. He stepped around him and crossed over to Rose, who reached up and took his hand. She squeezed it. He laced his fingers through hers.

"I came to talk to you," Cal said. "I need to ask you..." Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Jack had been grateful to him just the day before, so grateful in fact it had made Cal uncomfortable, but now that was gone. His blue eyes were hard, and as Cal explained what he had come there to ask, they grew even harder. _He won't help me_ , Cal thought. _And she won't if he won't_. But if Rose was willing, Jack could be persuaded. He was sure of that. She'd do anything if she was the one doing the asking.

But Rose quickly dashed his hopes. "You want us to pretend not to know you?" she asked incredulously. "So your wife won't find out what you did?" Her nose wrinkled. "I was wrong. You aren't exactly the same. The old you would have at least made a mild attempt at coercing or manipulating us."

"Mild?" Jack scoffed. His non-expression became one of disgust. "It wouldn't have even been phrased as a question."

"I deserve that," Cal said. "I do, but-"

"But nothing," Rose said. "We don't owe you anything." Sensing he was about to retort, she added, "Helping me does not make up for the things you did. It was what a decent human being would do."

"You're implying I'm a decent human being then," Cal said.

"You have the potential. But everyone does," she said.

Jack's mouth curved into a small smile. He didn't know what had come over him, but in that moment he wanted Cal to suffer. He wanted him to feel the fear they had felt when he was chasing them into a sinking ship with bullets flying over their heads. He wanted him to feel the desperation he had felt while handcuffed to a pipe and left to drown. But mostly he wanted him to feel powerless, as powerless as he had tried to make Rose feel. Without realizing it he squeezed her shoulder. She laid her hand over his. Tension rolled off him in waves. _It's okay, Jack,_ she thought.

In the hours following Rose's near drowning Jack hadn't cared that Cal was the one who helped her, and if he was honest with himself he still didn't care that it had been Cal. Rose was safe, and there wasn't much more he could ask for. After all, it wasn't like he had been able to protect her. _It isn't like I took care of her_ , he thought, glancing at her. She pressed her hand against his again and smiled up at him. _I failed her_. He set his jaw and turned to face Cal. "We won't just hide this for you," he said. "You don't get out of owning up to what you did that easily. Besides," he added, "I don't think we could keep Lily quiet if we tried."

...

Cal was still lingering near the house when Jack went back outside to collect his painting supplies. "The answer's still no," he said, not bothering to look at him.

Cal was at his side in an instant. "Why not?" he asked, keeping his voice low to reduce the chance of Rose hearing him. "Would it really be that difficult?"

"No, it really wouldn't be," Jack said icily. "But would it really have been that difficult to let her go calmly?"

"You're being awfully petty," Cal mocked. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."

"Nobody's perfect," Jack shot back.

"Least of all you."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "I'm willing to tolerate your presence, and I'm willing to be civil to you because I don't want to make our children's lives miserable if I can help it. But the way I feel about you hasn't changed. You are different, but you're still the same bastard at your core." He took a menacing step toward Cal. "And don't you _ever_ look at her like that again." His voice was a growl. "She's blind. She isn't stupid. And there is nothing you can say that will win her over."

A protest was on the tip of Cal's tongue, but he swallowed it. What would be the use? Jack was right. _Partially right. And he's scared_. The thought filled him with a quiet glee. Had he known Jack better, or even at all, he would have realized there wasn't a trace of fear anywhere in Jack's voice or expression. There was nothing but pure anger. Cal understood anger; he was sometimes overcome by his own rage, but he always found a way to use it to his advantage somehow. But for Cal anger was like a bomb. It exploded and left a trail of debris. Jack smoldered; he buried his rage and let it quietly grow stronger until he reached a breaking point.

"Are you sure you believe that?" Cal said smoothly. "You treat her like a cracked doll. Not that I'm blaming you. I'm sure she isn't as much fun now that he .abilities are so limited. Of course," he added with a leer, "I wouldn't deny her if she wanted in my bed, sight or no sight."

Jack's hands were fists. "You son of a-" He stopped. "Don't you even think about getting close to her. Don't you even think about speaking to her."

"Or what? What could you do to me that hasn't already been done?" Cal knew he had said too much as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Try me," Jack said. He turned on his heel and marched back into the house.

...

"You won't tell me what happened, will you?" Rose asked. She laid her hands on Jack's shoulders. His muscles were tense. Slowly she began kneading his shoulders through his shirt, starting with the tightest spots. With a sigh he leaned his head back. His eyes were closed. "Thank you," he said.

She kissed the top of his head. "It's the best I can do. For now." Jack took her hands and pulled her around so they were facing each other. His arm snaked around her hip. She giggled as she fell into his lap.

"We have to go," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair. It was soft and cool. She tried to ignore his hands sliding up her back. "I know we do," he said.

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. "It won't be so bad," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"No," she admitted. "But what's the worst that could happen?"

...

They were the first to arrive, but no sooner had they settled into their chairs then Jack spotted

Cal's dark head from across the room. He was standing in the entryway, a perplexed expression on his face. A small woman was on his arm. Grey eyes sparkled in a pale, delicate face. Her lips could have been the tiny, sculpted lips of a porcelain doll. A flash of recognition went across her face as her eyes fell on Jack. She whispered something to Cal, and they began moving toward them.

"Here they come," Jack said.

"What are they like?" Rose asked, taking his hand.

"She's pretty," he said, doing his best to keep his mouth from moving. "They're both overdressed."

"Any sign of the children?"

"Not yet."

Rose took a deep breath, but it did nothing to slow her racing heart. _What are you so nervous_ _about? They can't do anything to you!_

Jack pressed her hand. "You nervous?" he murmured.

She had to stifle a laugh. "No."

The greetings and introductions went by quickly, and all too soon they found themselves sitting in silence, Cal and Deidre on one side and Jack and Rose on the other. The tension in the air was so thick Rose wouldn't have been surprised to hear someone choke on it. For the first time she began having doubts. _Maybe there was a better way to do this_ , she thought. The reassuring pressure of Jack's hand on hers silenced the nagging voice in the back of her head.

Deidre couldn't take her eyes off them. _He can't be forty_ , she thought. _He looks so young_. Jack's golden tan stood in stark contrast to Cal's pale complexion. She had never thought of him as pale before, and it was disconcerting. There was a vitality in Jack she wasn't sure she had ever seen in Cal. He had always been so self-contained, everything bubbling quietly under the surface; his self-control was incredible. Now he just seemed dull, lifeless. And Rose. _She's beautiful_ , Deidre thought with a pang of envy. _And she's older than me._ She resisted the urge to look down at her dress. Suddenly it felt far too tight, too flashy, too everything.

"I like your dress," Jack said, breaking the silence. He smiled. "Is that taupe?"

"Why, yes. Yes, it is," Deidre said, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I know a little about colors. I don't think I've ever seen that one used for a dress before."

"This dress was originally supposed to be coral, but..." Deidre shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I changed it."

"It looks very nice."

"Thank you."

Rose felt a rush of love for Jack. There wasn't any situation he couldn't make better somehow. "Don't listen to him," she said. "He doesn't know a little about colors. He knows everything about them."

"I do not. I...I just..." Rose felt his grin. "Maybe," he said finally. "Maybe I know more than a little."

"I can accept that." Rose turned to Deidre. "I hope he knows more than a little, otherwise I've been relying on the wrong person to describe the world to me all these years."

Deidre kept her shock from showing on her face. She had known Rose was blind. Even if Cal hadn't told her she would have been able to tell by looking at her eyes, but she had never expected her to just talk about it so openly. _Why doesn't she try to hide it when she goes out? And why is he the one taking care of her?_ "Have-have you always been visually impaired?" she said haltingly.

Rose smiled warmly. _A person of limited means_ , she heard herself say. "No, not always. It actually hasn't been that long, just about seven years."

"Is that why you settled in Santa Monica?" Deidre's cheeks reddened. "Dylan told us about some of your travels," she said quickly. "And he mentioned you came here after an illness."

"We did," Jack said. His gaze was like a caress on Rose's cheek. Deidre found herself wondering what it would feel like to be looked at that way. It was clear this was not the first time Jack had looked at Rose that way nor would it be the last. _It must feel...incredibly intimate_ , she decided finally.

"I became very ill about eight years ago," Rose said softly. "I—I wasn't supposed to recover." Jack's hand tightened around hers. "But I did," she said, more to him than anyone else. "My eyes were incredibly weak after my fever finally broke. I wasn't as well as I thought I was, and when I fell ill again..."

"There they are!" Lily's voice rang out across the crowded dining room. "I win," she said triumphantly. Jack had never been so happy to see his daughter.

Eva had a cigarette in one hand and Dylan's hand in the other _. I don't want to do this. I have to do this. I have to do this...I can't do this_. She took a long drag on her cigarette. It didn't help. Before she knew it they were at the table. Her mother's mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. Dylan led her to a chair and handed her another cigarette. _I can do this_.

"Eva?" Deirdre leaned toward her. "Eva, are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, mother," Eva said. She plucked a lighter from her pocket and quickly lit her cigarette. "I'm fine." She forced herself to smile. "How are you? How was the trip out here?" Cal caught her eye over her mother's head. His expression was unreadable, but she knew there was something lurking underneath the mask. Anger, most likely, or disgust at having to be in such close proximity to people he considered less than the dirt under his shoes. _As though we have anything to feel so superior about_ , Eva thought. If the last few years had taught her anything it was the fragility of wealth.

"It was fine," Deirdre said. "Are you smoking more?" Lily immediately lit a cigarette of her own. Jack held in a grin. It was exactly the sort of thing Rose would have done at her age. Dylan glanced over at him. "We aren't too late, are we?"

Jack shook his head. "Not at all." You couldn't have gotten here at a better time.

"We would've made it sooner, but someone," Dylan shot Lily a look, "had to stop and give a lecture about the silencing of the working class."

Lily took a drag of her cigarette. "I didn't see you doing it," she said, blowing a smoke ring at Dylan. Cal was transfixed by her. He couldn't believe how much like Rose she was.

"That man _did_ ask," Eva said. "Unlike the first two."

The conversation flowed smoothly, but there was an undercurrent of tension no-one wanted to touch. Deirdre avoided looking at Rose even when speaking to her. Eva chain smoked. Lily had to literally bite her tongue to keep from launching into a political diatribe after Cal made a comment about the "filthy streets" of Los Angeles. Dylan kept finding reasons for Jack and Rose to tell stories. Deirdre found them fascinating, and they kept everyone else quiet, even Cal, who was channeling the majority of his energy into staring at Rose without being noticed.

"And that's how we ended up in Venice," Jack said.

"And so you just went?" Deirdre said. "You didn't plan it at all?" There was a note of awe in her voice.

"Well, you could say we planned to end up there eventually," Rose said. "We have a list of places to end up eventually." She smiled at the memory of Jack in a gondola. It was one of the last memories she had that included images.

He took her hand. "That was a nice few months, wasn't it?" He lightly rubbed her fingers. "I wish we could go back," he said.

"I do too," Rose said. "But it isn't so bad here." It was clear to everyone that neither of them were discussing geography anymore.

"My, you certainly do a lot of traveling," Deirdre said. "I don't think I've ever known anyone who spent that much time away from home."

"Wherever we are is our home," Rose explained. "We didn't have a permanent place of our own until a few years ago." Jack's grip on her hand tightened. She laid her other hand over his. "But tell us about yourself," she said. "We know Eva quite well already, and she's heard these stories."

"Yes," Jack said, his eyes on Cal, "What have you been doing since the last time we saw you?" He hadn't planned to say it. As much as he couldn't stand Cal he didn't want to ruin the whole evening for everyone else. He liked Deirdre. She was reserved but sweet; nothing at all like the kind of woman he had expected her to be. And he had already started to think of Eva as a third child. But Cal's incessant staring at Rose was infuriating.

Cal's reaction showed on his face for only a moment before it was replaced by a calm mask. _So that's what he wants._ His dark eyes were hard. _Fine._

 _What is he talking about?_ Deirdre wondered, puzzled. _How would they have known each other?_ In their heyday she and Cal had associated with a very elite circle; it was the sort of circle people had been known to hatch intricate plots and alliances to become a part of. Money alone wasn't enough to gain entrance. The nouveau riche were strictly prohibited. Jack, despite his obvious security in the middle of an economic crisis, didn't come anywhere near the poorest family in their former circle; nor did he have the necessary familial and cultural capital. She snuck a quick glance at Rose. Could it be her? But wouldn't she have known her too? It was feasible that a man could have escaped her notice, but a woman?

"You knew each other?" Deirdre asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her confusion.

"You could say that," Cal said. He sounded as though he were biting the ends off his words. "Though I really only knew one of them."

...

Eva threw her head back and gulped in the cool night air. Her head ached. Her stomach shifted from nauseous to gnawing with hunger every few seconds. Dylan's hand was like a feather on her waist. She grabbed it and pulled him closer.

"I'm sorry," he said into her hair. "That shouldn't have happened."

She sighed. "I knew something would go wrong. I could tell from the way he talked last night that something would go wrong." She slumped against him, exhausted. "He won't try to stop us from getting married, but he won't let it be easy either."

"My dad shouldn'tve said that. He knew what would happen."

"He had his reasons, and I'm betting they were pretty good. Anyone else would have just gone with it, but not my father. Not the great Caledon Hockley." Disgust thickened her voice. "He has to win everything, and it doesn't matter if it's hopeless, if there's nothing to be done, if there's nothing left to grab. He's determined to keep going even if all he manages to do is hasten the destruction of what he wants so badly."

"You're shaking," Dylan said, hugging her tighter. "C'mon, let's get you something to eat." He kissed her cheek. "Or at least some water."

She smiled wanly. "Could you have chosen a more difficult girl to fall in love with?"

"You're not what's difficult. It's everyone else that's making things difficult acting like children over something that ended a long time ago."

"It ended technically, but not actually."

"What do you mean?"

"The situation they were all involved in is technically over, but in some ways it never actually ended. Being apart probably made them think it was, but all it took was five minutes in the same room for it all to come back. Mostly for your father and mine, I'm guessing. It doesn't surprise me that he's held onto a grudge this long."

"He married someone else though."

"Yeah, but imagine I left you for someone else and then you saw me again years later. How would you feel?"

"Point taken."

"And let's say you had an ego the size of Russia and the man I left you for was, by society's standards, in every way inferior to you."

"I-"

"But," she continued, "In the end his life turned out better. Wouldn't that be a bit hard to accept? Though that isn't an excuse for acting the way he does sometimes."

"You know, you remind me a little of my dad sometimes," Dylan said.

"I hope that isn't why you're marrying me," she said with a quick chuckle.

Dylan gasped. "How did you know?"

"Didn't you just tell me?" She turned around and took his hand. "C'mon. I believe you said something about food."

They found a small all-night diner with thick black coffee and cigarette burned tables. The stress of the past few days melted away, and for a few minutes it was just like they were back at their usual place in Wellesley. Dylan did quick sketches of the people around them. Eva wrote a few pages in one of her notebooks. The waitresses were staring daggers at them when they finally finished sharing their last cigarette and left.

The house was dark when they came in. From behind Lily's closed door the rat-tat-tat of typing could be heard. "Probably typing a manifesto of her own," Dylan said.

"It would be a shame to disturb her," Eva said. "She really is brilliant."

Without thinking about it they moved closer to each other. Dylan's hand found the small of her back. "Yeah, but it's late. Time for bed."

Eva tilted her head up. "It is," she said, punctuating the statement with a kiss.

...

"Are you mad at me?"

Rose didn't answer. She sat up straight in the chair, hands folded in her lap. Jack was perched on the bed on the other side of the room. He paused, his left shoe half unlaced, "Rose?" They had barely spoken since leaving the disaster the dinner attempt had become. That in itself wasn't as disturbing as the fact that he hadn't been able to read her body language. It was as if, for the first time, she had retreated into some hidden place where even he couldn't follow.

"I'm not angry, Jack. I'm—I don't know what I am." She laughed joylessly. "I don't understand what just happened. All of that was supposed to be over. We weren't supposed to have to fight with anyone ever again." She shook her head. "I thought maybe..."

"It would be different?" Jack said, kneeling in front of her.

"Something like that," she said.

He took her hands in his. "I should've kept my mouth shut." Silver clicked against silver as their fingers laced together.

"Your ring hit my ring," Rose said, her mouth turning up slightly at the corners. She ran a finger over the surface of her ring. In her mind she could see the design that formed a border around the J in the center. Jack had the almost the same ring; his had a different design and an R. "I'll never forget watching you make these," she said. Her voice took on a dreamy quality. "I had never seen anything like it. There isn't anything you can't do with your hands, is there?"

"It isn't my hands I need to worry about," he said wryly, "It's my mouth."

"You can't unsay it, and I'm not sorry you did. I should be, I suppose, but after he spent the better part of an hour staring at me..." She shrugged. "I guess that's just the type of woman I am. Not only will I go to bed with anyone, but I have no conscience about offending other people."

"Don't you say that." Jack moved forward so he was almost in her lap. "Don't you go repeating what he said like he has any clue what the hell he's taking about."

"Actually, what he said was-"

"I know what he said." Jack touched her face. "And I should've hit him." Anger flared up in the pit of his stomach as Cal's voice echoed in his ears. He had almost hit him. His fist had been in the air, he had been just about to spring forward, when Rose's hand had landed on it, stopping him.

"That wouldn't have helped," Rose said with a sigh. "It would have just made things worse. And besides," she added, grinning, "It wouldn't be fair to hit him if I can't see it."

Jack wrapped his arms around her. She put her arms around his neck and slid out of the chair. He leaned back and caught her in his lap. "I'm sorry things turned out so badly," he said. "I'm sorry you were talked to like that."

She pressed her forehead to his. "He said some rude things about you too."

"Yeah, but it's nothing I hadn't heard before. Poor? I was. Dirty? Only when I couldn't find some water. Worthless? Only if you thought so."


	7. Chapter 7

Cal studied the wall. There was a short crack near the door frame, and the paint was old and dingy. He guessed it had once been pale yellow, but he wasn't sure. Across the room Deirdre was curled up on the bed with her back to him. She hadn't moved from that position since the previous night. With his anger gone, and his wounded ego deflated yet again by Jack's refusal to fight with him Cal hadn't bothered finding out what would happen if he joined her on the bed. Instead he slept sitting up in the chair, though he hadn't slept so much as dozed off for a few minutes in between fantasies of punching Jack and seducing Rose.

 _Almost twenty years without thinking about her. You couldn't keep that up?_

He was exhausted, but his mind was buzzing. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Jack's face. He saw the disgusted look Jack had worn while being insulted. He hadn't said anything. He just sat there holding Rose's hand until it was over. "Is that all?" he asked calmly. "You don't feel like throwing anything? Or maybe you'd like to accuse me of stealing?" It was his calmness that had most infuriated Cal. "And her," he had sneered, turning to Rose. Her face was stone. Jack had jumped to his feet at that. "Don't you even _think_ about her!" he growled.

Everyone else ceased to exist, or at least it seemed that way to Cal. He didn't think about any of what he said next; he just opened his mouth and let the words come out. All he felt when Jack raised his fist was a deep satisfaction. _See. He isn't any better than me_. But then Rose stopped him. _How does she even know?_ he thought. _She can't see him. They can't be that close._

"I hope you're happy." Deirdre's voice shattered the silence.

"What?" Cal said.

"I said I hope you're happy." She sat up and turned to face him. Her make-up was smudged and her hair was disheveled, but she still looked regal. "You just had to do that, didn't you? You couldn't leave it alone."

"I believe, if you'll recall, he started it. I didn't say anything until he made that snide remark about knowing me."

"I'm sure your staring at his wife all evening had something to do with that. Not that I'm taking his side. Although of the two of you he did behave with far more maturity."

"Of course you would take his side."

"I already said I'm not on his side. Nor am I on yours," she said coldly. "I thought perhaps we could come together for our daughter's sake, but all you seem to care about is reviving an old grudge against a woman who doesn't appear to have ever given a damn about you."

"You don't know the first thing about it."

"I know what I saw last night." And with that she leapt off the bed and hurried across the room. She threw open the closet and grabbed a dress. "I know I love you. I know I wanted to finally move on. Together. I don't know what you want." She dressed quickly, keeping her back to him the whole time. She brushed her hair out and pinned it back. There was no saving her make-up, but she could wash it off in the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't think I need to tell you that," she said over her shoulder as she headed out the door.

...

Rose snuggled closer to Jack. She threw an arm across his chest. He kissed the top of her head and tightened his grip on her. "You awake?" he asked sleepily. She responded by nuzzling his chest. "I'll take that as a no."

The house was still when Jack finally woke up. He climbed out of bed slowly, careful not to disturb Rose. He was on his second piece of toast by the time he realized the silence around him wasn't the silence of a sleeping house but rather of an empty one. Chewing slowly, the rest of his toast forgotten in his hand, he walked through the house. "Where did everyone go?" he wondered. There wasn't even a note, and that was unusual.

"Jack?"

"Right here, Petal." He held out his hand.

She took it gratefully. "I had the strangest feeling when I woke up. I don't know where it came from."

"Scared?"

"Sort of. I guess it would be more...unsettled is the word I would choose. I felt like I was the only person left. Isn't that absurd? I think it had something to do with the dream I had."

"What was the dream?"

"I don't really remember. I just know it was more nightmare than dream." She tilted her head toward him slightly. "Did you make toast?" He laughed. "I don't know how you can smell it cold as it is. I'll make you a fresh piece if you want."

"Please? It's better when you make it."

"You didn't hear the kids say anything about going somewhere today, did you?" Jack said as he popped two slices of bread in the oven.

"I can't imagine where they would have gone this early," Rose said. She slowly poured half a glass of orange juice. "You can keep going," he said. "Now stop. It's actually pretty late. It's 11:30."

"That's funny. It doesn't feel late at all." She sipped her juice. "How could we sleep so late? And I can't believe we didn't hear them leave. Was there a note?"

"Nope." He grabbed the toasted bread out of the oven and tossed it onto a plate. "It almost seems like they didn't want us to know they were going until after they were gone." He began buttering the toast. "But that's not like them."

"Maybe Dylan and Eva decided to elope," Rose joked.

Jack froze. "You don't think they really would, do you?"

As the day wore on and still there was no word from any of them Jack and Rose became more and more convinced that was exactly what had happened. "I can't say I blame them," Rose said, "not after everything that's been happening." She shifted to a new position on Jack's lap. "I wish it hadn't come to this though. I didn't want our children to have to do the same things we did."

"Maybe they were just following our example."

"Or maybe we helped drive them to it."

"Nothing that's happened so far comes close to being like what we experienced," Jack reminded her. "Though I guess that doesn't make it better, does it?" He laid his head on her shoulder. "And we still have to deal with whatever revolutionary Lily marries."

Rose shifted again. "I don't think we'll have to worry about that for a while. The man she's most interested in is in Russia."

"Lenin's dead."

"I was talking about Bukharin."

"Isn't he dead too? Rose, could you...d'ya think you could move a little less?"

She pressed a hand against his cheek. "I really can feel a blush."

He touched a spot above her hand. "I can't feel it."

She laughed. "Neither can I, but I was sure you were."

"You-" But he was laughing too.

"It wasn't my idea to sit like this," she said. "I'm not even sure how we ended up this way."

"Compromise."

"Oh, that's right. I wanted to knit. You wanted cuddling. This doesn't seem like much of a compromise to me though considering my knitting things are on the other side of the room, and you're doing a very good job of keeping me on this side of the room." She tensed slightly. "Did you hear that?"

"Uh-huh."

Lily didn't bother trying to sneak in. The house wasn't big enough to hide in, and even if it had been she wouldn't have. Avoiding her parents would just delay the inevitable. "And where did you get off to?" Jack asked.

"Hi Dad," she said wearily. "Before you ask, I'm alone. They stayed behind."

"You were right," Jack said as Rose took her place at his side. "It's Lily. And she's fine. Exhausted from the look of her, but fine."

"You wouldn't just let me have a nap before I explain, would you?" Lily asked hopefully. "I'm sure you've already figured most of it out."

Jack's face softened. "You don't want to eat first?" he said with a small smile.

She shook her head. "Just sleep." She dropped her bag. It seemed to weigh twice what it had when she set out that morning. Rose reached for her as she passed. "They're fine," Lily assured her. "And we would've told you, but that kind of went against the spirit of the thing."

Lily slept until the next morning. She woke up at her usual time and immediately jumped out of bed, fully refreshed. She was halfway through brushing her hair before the events of the previous day came rushing back. "And now I have to explain it to everyone," she said. "They could've come back and done their own storytelling instead of leaving it to me. I have enough to try to explain."

 _When are you going to do that anyway?_

"Well, I can't very well do it now, can I?"

There were four people in the kitchen instead of two, but the extra two weren't Dylan and Eva, much to her disappointment. They were Cal and Deirdre. All eyes were on her as she came in. Her stomach twisted. Say something! But all she could think was _What is to be done?_ And that made her think of Lenin. And that led to an image of Lenin occupying the same room as Cal, and that led to a giggling fit. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "Really...I..." She fell into the nearest empty chair. "You want me to tell you where they are, don't you?" she said when the fit had subsided.

"I didn't come here to find out how to draw," Cal said drily. Jack shot him a look. Deirdre's eyes narrowed. "Yes, that's what we want," he said quickly.

"Well, that's what some of us want," Rose said. "I don't mind not knowing where they are as long as they're alright."

"They were when I left," Lily said. "And they sent their love."

"Doesn't this seem a bit untoward to you?" Deirdre said, looking at Rose.

"Why would it?" Cal said before she could reply. "Considering some of the things she's done."

"I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut about my mother," Lily said smoothly. "I'm sure your part in that story would make a very interesting narrative. As for where they are, I'm afraid they asked me not to tell you. They want some time alone to be married before coming back into the maelstrom."

"So they did get married?" Deirdre said.

"Oh yes."

Things managed to stay relatively pleasant for another three minutes, but then the tension began to mount. Sensing things were about to come to a breaking point Lily said the only thing she could think of, "I dropped out of school."

Lily didn't realize she was holding her breath until her parents' voices reached her ears. "What?" they exclaimed in unison. She opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a squeak. It was worse than the first day of school. Then all she had been dealing with was twenty six year olds, all eyeing her suspiciously, and now she was dealing with the shocked and disappointed faces of her parents. "Why would you do that?" Rose cried.

"I—I thought it was the best thing," Lily stammered. "I—"

"And when were you going to tell us?" Jack demanded. Even Cal was surprised by the harshness of his voice.

Lily lowered her eyes. "I was waiting for the right time," she said quietly.

A reply was on the tip of Jack's tongue, but Rose took his hand before it could come out. She laid it flat on her lap and traced the word "wait" and then "please" on his palm. Shame washed over him. "I'm sorry," he said, giving her hand a squeeze. She squeezed back.

Lily met his gaze. "I know I should have said something sooner," she said, "but with everything that was happening I just couldn't. I wanted to wait until after things settled down with Dylan and Eva." She let out a short, joyless laugh. "I guess technically things have settled down with them."

"And why'd you do it?" Jack asked.

"Don't tell me you actually care!" Cal exclaimed. "Just a moment ago you sounded ready to—"

"I know how I sounded," Jack said, pronouncing each world slowly and carefully as though he were talking to a small child, "and that was really just the shock talking." He focused his gaze on Lily. "I'm not mad. Neither of us are. Just tell us why, Water-Lily?"

"Well, I decided I was wasting my time. I wasn't learning anything I couldn't teach myself for free—and faster—and to be honest, it seemed like such a bourgeoisie luxury when there's so much work I could be dedicating myself to."

Jack glanced at Rose; she wore a thoughtful expression. "I understand how you feel," she said slowly. "It's as though you're watching the world go by, and you can't be a part of it."

Lily nodded eagerly. "That's exactly it! I—I'm reading about the things that are going on, and I'm part of some of it, but it's such a tiny part. It isn't enough. It used to be, but it isn't anymore."

Cal stared at Jack and Rose. "And you're going to accept that?" he said incredulously. "You don't care—"

"Oh, we care," Rose said coldly. "We care a great deal about the futures of our children. That's why we're accepting Lily's decision to live her life the way she wants to. That's why we accepted Dylan's decision to marry your daughter in spite of who she was." Cal's mouth twitched. "We didn't have to overlook her connection to you," Rose said. "And you haven't given us any reason to, but _she_ did."

Jack placed his other hand over hers. "You should see his expression," he said.

"Does it look like he's holding a drawing of a naked woman?" Rose asked. "Because I remember what that one looked like."

Jack held in a chuckle. "He just looked pissed off then. Now he looks confused on top of that."

"You two really are perfect for one another," Cal spat.

Jack and Rose both grinned brightly. "Thank you," they said in unison before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

"I fail to understand how a woman as well brought up as you could have turned out so common," he said, his face wrinkling with disgust.

"She was mailed to the wrong address," Jack said without missing a beat. "She was supposed to be with me all along."

"We should go," Deirdre said, standing up. She turned to Cal. "Now," she added. Ignoring his scowl, she said, "Thank you for telling us what happened, Lily. I hope it won't be too much to ask for you to let us know when they return."

As soon as they were gone Lily moved toward the door. "No," Rose said. "We're not finished. We still need to discuss a few things."

"But I thought you said—"

"We did," Jack said. "And we meant it. That wasn't just to annoy him into leaving. If we'd wanted to do that there were plenty of other things we coulda done."

Reluctantly she sat down. "I gave away the rest of my scholarship money," she said, "in case you were wondering."

"We were," Rose said. "And how are you paying for your apartment?"

"I'm splitting the rent with two other people. We pay for food collectively as well. I have a job at the library, and that covers everything I need plus there's all the books I can st—borrow."

"Steal, borrow, sometimes it becomes the same thing without you even realizing," Jack said. "Just make sure there isn't a name written on anything you borrow."

Lily sensed he was speaking from experience, but her desire to leave the kitchen—and her parents' questions—was stronger than her curiosity. "I'm not doing anything dangerous," she said. "With the Party, I mean. If that's what you're worried about."

"I can't say we don't get worried," Rose said. "And I know how frustrating it can be feeling like you're trapped, like if you don't do exactly what's expected of you the world will come to an end, but don't run too far in the opposite direction too fast."

"I won't," Lily promised. "I know what I'm doing. Really." She gave each of them a quick kiss and then hurried from the room, breathing a sigh of relief as she went. It was over. She had told them.

"What was that about running too far in the opposite direction?" Jack asked.

"I just don't want her giving up too much without thinking," Rose said. "She won't be able to get it back."

His eyes probed her face. "You gave up everything two days after you met me," he reminded her. "Your entire life changed forever."

"For the better," she said, laying her head on his shoulder. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me; I wouldn't even have the children without you." He put an arm around her. "And I knew exactly what I was doing," she said. "I knew what would happen if I got off the ship—either ship—with you."

He smiled into her hair. "I remember how it felt when you first said you were getting off the ship with me. I couldn't believe you'd really said it, that you could really mean it." She hugged his middle. "As though I could have left you. I was probably already pregnant with Dylan by the time I said that."

He couldn't help but laugh. "I thought we decided that happened a few weeks later?" he said. "When we spent the night camping under that willow tree, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

….

Dylan couldn't stop smiling. His food sat on the plate untouched, growing colder by the minute, but he didn't care. Across the table Eva was eating so quickly it seemed like she was barely pausing to breathe. "Aren't you famished?" she said. "I feel like I haven't eaten in days. I feel like I haven't tasted anything in days."

 _Who needs food when I can look at you_? he thought. "I guess I'm not that hungry," he said. "But I'll eat."

"Don't you just feel so much better?" she said. "Don't you just feel like you could fight the world?" Her eyes sparkled. "I sound crazy, don't I? I'm raving. I—I'm just so happy!" She reached across the table and took his hand. "Thank you," she said solemnly.

"For what? Marrying you? Yeah, you really had to manipulate me into it," he joked.

"I mean it," she said. "Thank you for loving me despite….despite where I came from."

He laced his fingers through hers. "Eva, my loving you…I don't care who your parents are or who they were," he said. "I don't care that we didn't grow up the same way. I don't care that our fathers would happily kill each other—" She laughed. "I care about you," he said, kissing her knuckles. "The beautiful, talented, kind person that you are. And I would've married you eventually no matter what."

"You sure about that?" she teased. "What if my father hadn't given up his robbery staging ways?"

"That wouldn'ta stopped me," he said, a trace of Jack in his voice.

Eva's cheeks reddened under his gaze. "When should we go back?" she said.

"When do you want to?"

"Not yet if we can help it," she said. "It's barely been a day, and I'm sure my father—"

"Is fighting with mine," Dylan said. "It doesn't matter if he doesn't like us being together though." He ran his thumb over the empty space on her left hand. He didn't have the money for a ring yet. _Soon,_ he promised himself. "It doesn't matter what anyone thinks," Eva said, smiling.

 _Three Days Later_

Jack flipped to a new page. "Are you sure that's where we left off?" he asked. "I didn't think we'd gotten that far." He read the first paragraph to himself in a quiet murmur. "Does seem familiar," he said.

"That's because we stopped at the top of the next page," Rose said.

"We don't stop in the middle of chapters usually," he said.

There was a smile in her voice. "We got distracted." The meaning of her words wasn't lost on him.

"Oh did we?" he said, affecting an upper class accent. "It's curious that I can't seem to remember it. You wouldn't care to remind me what we were so distracted by, would you miss?" His grin widened as she leaned forward, letting her hair fall around her face. Their lips were inches apart; her body hovered over his lap. She smiled coyly. "Jack?"

"Yes?" Even after twenty years he still had trouble keeping his voice steady. She brushed her lips across his. He shivered.

Just as he was about to loop an arm around her waist she said, "Finish the book."

"Yes, miss." He pulled her into a kiss before she could move away.

She giggled into his mouth. "Jack, no!" His grip was loose; slipping out of his hands would have been easy. But instead she wrapped her arms around his neck. He fell back on the couch, pulling her down with him. The kiss deepened as he helped her move so she was straddling him. He pushed up her dress and held in a groan when his hands met her bare thighs. "You don't want me, do you?" she murmured.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he said. She undid the button on his pants and slid a hand in. His breathing quickened. "Rose," he gasped.

"I think I just answered my own question," she said. She leaned down and kissed his neck. He squirmed beneath her. "I need you to do something for me," she whispered.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble," he joked weakly.

She pressed her face against his neck and breathed deeply. He smelled wonderful; for a moment she forgot where she was and what she was doing. "No trouble," she murmured. "Now finish reading."

….

Jack paused at the bottom of the page. "You're going to kill me," he said.

Rose snuggled closer to him. "You're in no danger of dying," she said. "And you can even try and get me back later if you feel so inclined."

"Try?"

"Well, there's no guarantee you'll succeed, is there?" She kissed his cheek.

"You're not getting any sleep tonight," he promised, tilting his head to catch her lips with his own.

"Maybe that was my plan all along," she teased.

"Is that so?"

The sound of footsteps cut off her reply. "Dylan and Eva are back," she said. "And Lily is with them."

The trio burst through the living room door. "What are you doing inside on such a beautiful day?" Lily demanded.

"Playing games," Rose said. She didn't need to see Jack's face to know exactly what look he was giving her.

"And reading," he said. "Lotsa reading."

Dylan and Eva, their faces flushed with happiness, dropped into the nearest chair. They giggled as they tried to make themselves fit. "That could be avoided if you each sat in your own chair," Lily said mildly. "But I know separating for that long is anathema to you two."

"You joke now," Dylan said, "but when it happens to you—"

"Who said anything about it happening to me?" Lily lit a cigarette. "I don't have time for something as trivial as love."

"Love doesn't necessarily keep to our schedule," Rose said. "Nor does it take the form we expect. Except in your case," she added, giving Jack a squeeze. "You were exactly what I wanted."

Lily fought the urge to roll her eyes. That her parents were deeply in love she didn't doubt. It was the conviction that she too would one day end up like them—and now Dylan and Eva—that she couldn't quite believe. "It would take an awfully extraordinary man to make me act like any of you," she said drily.

"I expected nothing less," Jack said.

"Where did you go?" Rose asked, turning to face the direction Dylan's voice had come from.

"We didn't actually go that far," Eva admitted. "Only across the city." Her mouth tensed. "My parents asked about me, didn't they?"

"A few days ago," Jack said. "But we didn't have anything to tell them."

"I'm sure they weren't happy about that," Eva said.

"Your mother just asked that we let her know when you came back," Rose said. "In fact, why don't you call her now?"

Deirdre was overjoyed when she heard Eva's voice. Without waiting to consider the potential consequences she said, "I'll come and see you. Wouldn't that be better?" Eva didn't have a chance to respond. "Yes, I think so," Deirdre said. "Expect me in ten minutes." A dazed Eva hung up the phone.

"What happened?" Dylan asked.

"She's coming to visit," Eva said. "I just hope she doesn't bring Father."

Fortunately for Eva her hopes weren't very high, so when Deirdre arrived accompanied by Cal they didn't have far to fall. Lily scowled as she watched them through the window. "Must we really keep being civil to him? I know he's your father and all Eva, but he's a terrible human being."

"He doesn't try very hard to endear himself to anyone, that's for sure," Eva said. "I suppose that's what happens when you never have to try to gain anyone's affection."

"Yeah, maybe." Lily kept the rest of her thought to herself. Jack's voice could be heard from the hallway.

"I'm not feeding him," he said.

"No-one asked you to," Rose said. "I asked you to feed me." Their voices petered out.

"I think we're not getting dinner," Dylan said as he came in.

"Oh, he'll make something," Lily said. "He always does."

"For Mom maybe. The way they're acting in the kitchen I'm not sure they even know we're still here."

"You know, we should probably go soon," Lily said.

Eva darted across the room and into the hallway just as the knock came. She gave her hair a quick pat and opened the door slowly, remembering all the lessons in deportment she had suffered through as a child. Deirdre, her lessons forgotten, immediately enveloped her in a hug. "Well, don't you look lovely," she said when she finally released her. "Marriage suits you already."

Cal stood stiffly next to her. He nodded. "Eva."

"Come inside," Eva said, smiling as graciously as she could. _He's your father. He's your father_.

The visit went better than any of them had dared hope. Cal didn't insult anyone, though it wasn't for lack of trying. Jack and Rose stayed in the kitchen until they left, leaving him without his favorite targets. Lily smiled at whatever he said and threw a barbed comment of her own right back. Dylan didn't seem to notice or care about anything but Eva. The worst moment was then Deirdre asked about the ring and Eva had to admit she didn't have one.

"What do you mean you don't have one?" Cal demanded. "Are you honestly telling me you married her before you could produce a ring?"

"A piece of metal hardly seems worth considering where marriage is concerned," Dylan said calmly. "After all, it isn't the ring she married." In that moment he looked like the perfect blend of Jack and Rose.

Cal grunted a reply and fixed his eyes on the wall behind him. It was full of Jack's drawings. _He hasn't amounted to a thing, he thought. No-one but her has ever given a second look to those drawings of his._ Yet that didn't make him feel as good as he expected it to.

"Are you planning to stay in California?" Deirdre asked.

"No," Eva said. "We're going back to Wellesley—for a while, at least. In fact, we were just beginning to talk about when we might go back."

…

"I think we should move into the apartment above your sister and complain about all the strange people she lets in," Eva said.

Dylan laughed. "She'd kill us. You know that, right?"

Eva tore off a hunk of bread and popped it into her mouth. "But it would be funny until then."

"I thought Lily was your friend?"

"She is; she's my best friend, really. And if it weren't for her I wouldn't have met you."

"And that's when your life truly began."

"It was," Eva said, looking into his eyes. "I didn't realize it for a long time though." She laughed softly. "I loved you for a long time."

"You say that like you stopped," he teased.

"I will if you keep making jokes when I'm trying to be serious," she said. "And if you don't start drawing again. Don't think I haven't noticed."

He hung his head in mock shame. "You'll have a new drawing by morning."

They went back to Wellesley two days later. Lily went with them, but she only stayed long enough to pack her things and find someone else to take on her share of the apartment. "The real movement is out West," she said. "That's where I'm supposed to be."

Dylan wanted to argue with her, but he knew it would be a waste of time. "Be careful," he said with a sigh.

She hugged him. "Of course."

Dylan and Eva settled into a two-room apartment. It only had a bed, table, and one chair. Fortunately, as Lily had already observed, they didn't mind sitting close together. Cal and Deirdre went back to living almost exactly the way they had been before. Except now they talked to each other about something other than the good old days. Most of the time.

…..

"Tired?"

Rose shook her head. "Wide awake," she said.

Jack hugged her to him. "Good." He leaned in and kissed her. "You'll wanna be awake for this."

"Oh really?"

"Uh-huh." He was already working his way through the buttons on her dress.

"I hope you aren't trying to be subtle," she teased. "Because I think I know exactly what you want."

"You do?"

He swung her up into his arms. "You sure?"

"I—Did we just go outside?"

"I thought you knew what I wanted."

"I thought…" She gasped with excitement. "We're going to the ocean!"

"Well, well, well, looks like you didn't know." He stopped when the water was up to his ankles. "I'm setting you down," he said. "Don't go runnin off again, okay?"

"I won't."

Rose took his hand. The water was cool, but the breeze was warm. She took a deep breath. "It smells nice here," she said.

"But?"

"I didn't say but."

"I thought there was a but coming," he said.

"I wasn't going to say it," she admitted. "But...we're not staying here forever, right?"

Jack hesitated before answering. "It scares me a little to think about wandering off right now," he said. "Not just because of what's going on, the Depression, but…"

She lifted his hand and laid it over her eye. "Because of this?"

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he said. "I couldn't protect you from that. And I know," he added before she could reply, "that no-one could've. I—"

"Jack, I know how you feel. You stopped drawing, remember?"

"Because you couldn't see them." He caressed her cheek. "Why draw if you couldn't see it?"

She put her hand over his. "But you're drawing again. And you're taking me swimming in the ocean."

"I'm holding your hand while we swim," he said.

"Fine," she said, grinning. "Hold it while we see the other half of the world then."

The End


End file.
